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ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY - AUGUST 15,1891. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE $ 12.00 PER YEAR 

FftfK/v/l ttt fit. Pmif- Post Offife as Secon'P Cl^a^ss^-Ptlten 



-REKD- 


ALBANY 






STARK’S 

REVENGE, 


:by; 


RICHARD S. MAURICE. 


PRESS NOTICES. 


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“Mr. Maurice was evidentl^^ an admirer of Dickens as there is a 
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The Price-McGill Co., 

scr. RAUiv, 


MINN 



“You are a little rebel now,” cried Walter, joyously, while she clung 
to him, well satisfied . — Pnge 259. 




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A MISTAKEN 
IDENTITY. 


A Romance of Love and War 


OSCAR F. G. DAY. 



1891 . 

THE PRICE-McGILL COMPANY, 
ST. PAUL, MINN. 








Copyrighted, 1891, by R. H. Merkiam. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


PRINTED AND PLATED BY 

TTHIS F^RICE-rvIcGlLIv CO. 
St. Paul, Minn. 



• i 



To Those Hustling Men Who Do Moke Toward 
Running the World 


Than All the Soldiers and Statesmen of 
THE Universe — 

The Much Abused 

NEWSPAPER REPORTERS, 

THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

By the Author. 


CONTENTS 


Cliapter. 


Page. 

I. 

The Colonial Homestead, : 

: 7 

II. 

Love’s Young Dream, : : 

■ ; 20 

III. 

The Awakening, : : 

: . 32 

IV. 

A Wedding and a Separation, : 

43 

V. 

A Forcible Request, : : 

: 58 

VI. 

A Little Heroine, : : 

: 71 

VII. 

Farewell to England. : 

: 84 

VIII. 

A Private Prisoner, : : 

: 93 

IX. 

The Jailor’s Daughter, : 

: 101 

X. 

The Ruling Passion, ; : 

: 111 

XI. 

The Fair and the False, : 

: . 121 

XII. 

A Dreary Outlook, : : 

: 139 

XIII. 

From the Jaws of Death, : 

: 151 

XIV. 

“ I Do Not Know You,” : : 

: 162 

XV. 

A Living Lie, : : 

: 173 

XVI. 

At Danger’s Brink, ; : 

: 185 

XVII. 

A Bitter Wooing, : : 

: 197 

XVIII. 

Some of Cupid’s Capers, : : 

: 212 

X!X. 

A Double Discovery, : : 

: 230 

: X 

A Tigress at Bay, : : 

: 244 

XXI. 

P'ace to Face, : : 

: 261 

XXII. 

The Lost is Found, ; : 

: 274 

XXIII. 

The Man and the Alaid, : 

: 286 

XXIV. 

A Double Tragedy, . : : 

: 298 

XXV. 

P'orgiveness and— The End. : 

: 309 


PREFACE. 


Son;e one has said : “ Oh ! that mine enemy would write 

a book.” It is written, and the critic may prepare his facile 
pen for the work of carnage. As a prelude, however, allow 
the author to sa3' that this is a romance, and romances are 
not founded on fact. The pages are filled with love, for the 
simple reason that people love to read of love ; there is such 
a rarity of the genuine article in modern society. Many 
may accuse the moral tendency, but this story was not 
written to elevate morals, it simplj'' deals with the human 
passions as they exist, and does not seek to alter them; a 
herculean, and in fact, impossible task ; so why attempt it ? 
The book speaks for itself, and will rise or fall on its own 
merits. The author has sought to amuse, not instruct, and 
if he succeeds in whiling awa}’- a few pleasant hours for a 
few of his fellow beings, his object is accomplished. Brevity 
is not only the soul of wit, but is a blessing in a preface. 
Hence the brevity. 

OSCAR F. G. DAY. 
Minneapolis, Minn., Feb. 22 , 1891 . 









A MISTAKEN IDENTITY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE COLONIAL HOMESTEAD. 

The sun was fast sinking toward a golden, 
hazy sunset peculiar to southern climes, its 
copper hue and diminisned light seeming to be- 
token a sleepy rest after the fiery ardor of a 
long day, spent in heating a universe, this sec- 
tion of which, at least, having been none too 
thankful for the favor bestowed. 

The forest and song birds hastened their 
flight, as if in anticipation of the coming 
night, striving to make the most of tlie fading 
day. From the distant swamp came the muf- 
fled drumming of an occasional partridge, as 
he moved about, taking a sun-bath in Sol’s 
last slanting rays, and a solitary whip-poor- 
will soared high above, sending forth his even- 
ing call, as if in signal to his mates. 

A moss-edged brook struggled from among 


8 A Mistaken Identity. 

the gray old rocks, on to a waving meadow 
th rough which it picked its way in a coquet- 
tish course, coy as a maiden keeping her first 
tryst with a young lover. On through the 
velvet lawn, beneath the low cut windows of 
the house, then curving to Ihe right over a 
pebbly bed, losing itself with a rapid rush in 
the wooded slope beyond. 

The house was a low building, with French 
and oriel windows, a broad porch covering 
the whole front, its huge, wooded pillars, nearly 
hidden by dark-green creepers, reaching to the 
top of the low windows in the second story. 
Nearly secreted by the drooping ivy sat a man 
of mature years, abstractedly smoking a long, 
queerly-fashioned pipe, half unconsciously lis- 
tening to the warble of a lively mocking-bird 
that hopped about from branch to branch of 
the S3^camore boughs overhead, cocking his 
head in a friendly way at the larger biped be- 
neath him. 

Suddenly the man’s face brightened, and a 
look of tenderness swept over it, as the sound 
of a low, sweet voice accompanied by the 
notes of a harpischord reached him from 
within, and he thoughtfully beat time to the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


9 


accompaniment of the air with the bowl of 
his pi])e upon the arm of the chair in which he 
was sitting. 

“Dreaming, uncle?’’ asked a rich female 
voice, whose owner had but just turned the 
path around the corner of the house and thus 
suddenly accosted him. 

“ Dreaming but a pleasant reality, my child,” 
answered the old man with a welcoming smile, 
“and am awakened by another pleasant re- 
ality.” 

“And what may that be^” asked the 
maiden, pausing to bend over his chair and 
print a soft kiss upon the curling gray hair. 

“ Your sweet self, my lady niece.” 

“Thanks, uncle,” with a lovely blush, “and 
may I ever be such to all within this house.” 

The old man answered by a gratified smile, 
as the girl passed on through the low, squarely 
built door into the house. 

The old gentleman had spoken the truth. A 
pleasant reality, indeed, was Ruth Garner, the 
only child of his own dead sister, who had 
survived for a few months the death of her 
husband, which had taken place on one of the 
Revolution’s first battle-fields. Dark, glossy 


10 


A Mistaken Identity. 


locks crowned a low, broad brow. Dark eyes 
that would have looked serious, but for the 
slight mirthful droop at the corners. The 
mouth might have been a little large, had it 
not been for the sensitiveness of the lips and 
the beauty of the clear, even teeth. The form 
was exquisitely moulded and graceful in con- 
tour ; but it was in the voice that Ruth’s great 
charm lay. Though not exactly musical, it 
had a richness and depth of tone that one 
could not fail to notice as being exquisitely 
restful to the sense. A voice that was an in- 
dex to the sincerity and lasting truth that la3^ 
hidden deep in the breast of Roger Fuller’s 
niece. 

The old gentleman, himself, came of a good, 
old stock, his father before him having been 
one of the early settlers in Carolina, driven 
there by the political and religious quarrels 
consequent upon the reign of Charles, and the 
persecutions pursuant to his too selfish policy. 

The Fullers had been eminently successful, 
and no finer house nor broader acres were 
there in the colonies, than those that had de- 
scended to Roger, and would in time descend 
to his son Walter, now absent and following 


A Mistaken Identity. 


11 


the fortunes of the Continental troops, where 
the grand old man would have been himself, 
had it not been for the necessity of his remain- 
ing at home to protect his niece and daughter, 
not so much from the British soldiery, as from 
the loyalist faction of the colonies, which had 
made the Carolinas their chief stamping 
ground as soon as the English forces had 
gained supremacy in that quarter. 

Fifty-three years of life in the colonies, the 
majority of which had been busy ones, had 
still left Roger Fuller a vigorous specimen of 
manhood. Though not over tall, he was mas- 
sive in frame and erect in carriage. His fea- 
tures, though firm and large, were not devoid 
of a certain form of strong beauty ; the brow 
was high and broad, the hair curled baek 
gracefully, hanging to the neck in nearly white 
curls, the eyes were large, of a blue gray and 
set beneath delicate brows, almost feminine in 
their penciling; the nose was rather promi- 
nent • the mouth firm with a straight upper 
lip, and a broad chin denoting liberality of 
purpose. It was when he smiled that one 
saw the true kindliness of his disposition, and 
it was one that never failed to win the affec- 


12 


A Mistaken Identity. 


tions of a child, no matter what its dispo- 
sition. 

The women of his own family worshiped 
him, his daughter centering upon him all the 
combined love of the mother that was lost to 
her and his own share ; his niece scarcely with 
less affection than could have been given to 
her own parents, had they been alive to de- 
mand it. The women on his plantation saw 
in him a true sympathizer in their griefs, and 
the men a kind and indulgent master. 

The Tories of that section had troubled him 
very little, partly on account of his kindliness, 
few of them not having had cause to remem- 
ber some deed of his in which they had figured 
as the beneficiaries, and partly on account of 
the strength of his household, which he could 
transform into a garrison on short notice. 

Lower and lower sank the sun, just glinting 
the tree-tops in the bottoms’^ with a crim- 
son hue ; still Roger Fuller smoked on in si- 
lence, listening to the distant hum of voices 
that reached him from the parlor. 

The sound of hoofs upon the road caused 
him to look up, in antieipation, for in these 
troubled times it was a matter of some mo- 


A Mistaken Identity, 


13 


ment whether the evening visitor was friend 
or foe, bearer of good tidings or of ill. 

He need have been tinder no apprehension, 
however, for nothing could have appeared 
more peaceful or undemonstrative than the 
new-comer. Mounted upon an antiquated 
and bony pony, which bore evident signs of 
being on the worst of terms with the world, 
and ambling along as if in doubt as to whicli 
hoof belonged next on the ground, rode an 
old man, tall of stature and spare of frame, 
whose appearance left no mistake as to the 
nature of his calling. Joshua Bell, the minister 
from the adjacent village of Beaton, had come 
to pay his old friend and parishioner a long- 
delayed visit. 

“Prithee, friend Roger,” he remarked, as he 
neared the horse-block, and, dismounting, 
threw the bridle rein to the grinning black 
boy, who had followed him up the path, “is it 
not strange that chance should have thrown 
together such a pair as Gath and myself As 
to bone we are well mated, but he needeth a 
few more hands in stature in .order to safely' 
carry my feet free from the rocks of the cou ii- 
try road.” 


14 


A Mistaken Identity. 


“TruU^, you are right,” replied Roger, an- 
swering, with a hearty laugh, the sally of the 
divine, whose joeular tone ill accorded with 
the doleful smile upon his long visage, ‘‘but he 
is lucky to be so, inasmuch as that fault has 
saved him from conscription by the enemy.” 

“Aye, they are badly off for horse,” with a 
dubious shake of the head, “though vastly 
too plent3^, I fear, in foot.” 

“Time will show,” answered Roger; “but 
meantime come into the house, where the 
youngladies will welcome you right joyously.” 

“In due time, brother. Meanwhile I would 
converse for a moment alone with you. The 
Continentals are reported to be advancing, 
not far from this place, and you may receive a 
visit from your son — ” 

“ Fr om W alter ? — ” 

“Sol surmise — nay have almost an assur- 
ance of; Walter, accompanied by young Henry 
Carter, whom his superiors have so lately 
deemed worthy of a captaincy.” 

“Heaven be thanked, for the good news,” 
exclaimed Roger, devoutly. “It seems an age 
since I held my boy by the hand, and I will 
confess that I have been, at times, wildly anx- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


15 


ious as to his welfare. But eome in. The 
evening is growing dark, and the ladies await 
us.^’ 

^‘Do you think it best to aequaint the ladies 
with the news?” asked the eautious divine. 
‘‘It might disappoint and even alarm them, 
should the young men fail to appear. Is it 
wise to arouse their hopes and fears? There 
is certainly no little danger in this visit to the 
young men.” 

“No fear for them,” said Roger, proudly. 
“ They are brave girls and wortliA^ of everj^ con- 
fidence. It would be cruel to keep from my 
daughter, the news that her brother has sur- 
vived the fortunes of war. The uncertainty 
we have been under for some time has caused 
her to mourn deeply. Ugly rumors have come 
to us from time to time, and it will be a relief 
for her to know that some of them, at least, 
were false.” 

“As 3^ou think best, Roger,” said the rev- 
erend man thoughtfully. “X'Ve have had 
troubled times, and were it not for the part 
taken by our brave womankind, I do not 
doubt but that the cause would have been 
lost long ere this. Ah! what noble men and 


16 


A Mistaken IdExNTity 


women will these brave ladies give to our 
-young eountry, in their ehildrend^ 

The old gentlemen entered the house where 
lights were being lit, and the clergyman was 
cordiall3^ received by the young ladies, who sa- 
luted him with a volley of feminine questions 
before he was fairly seated. 

‘‘Patience, fair ones,” he expostulated, “one 
question at a time. Yes, fair Eloise, the good 
dame is well and quite recovered from the 
throat trouble — Miss Ruth, the poor Dame 
Bolton thanks you for the basket sent her by 
hand of the black boy Sam, and no less for the 
cheering words, also. Other matters, such as 
village gossip can well rest, in the face of 
greater and more welcome news, which I have 
no doubt our kind father and uncle has in 
store for you.” 

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Eloise, rolling a low 
ottoman to his side, and nestling upon it cit 
his feet, “tell it at once.” 

“Does the daughter adjure, or the queen 
command?” asked the parent, playfully, tak- 
ing her small hand between his two great ones 
caressingly. “For you know she is both to 
me.” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


17 


^‘Neither, papa,’^ answered his daughter, 
half seriously, “the little girl pleads, and so 
does Ruth. Do you not, eousin ? 

“Dear unele, we are most anxious,’^ an- 
swered Ruth. 

“Woman’s natural euriosity,” volunteered 
Joshua. 

“Don’t mind good Mr. Bell, papa,” laughed 
Eloise. 

“Very well then,” began Roger. “Onecupon 
a time — ” 

“Yes ! ‘ onee upon a time interrupted his 
daughter, as the father paused to watch the 
exquisite play of her features. “ ‘ Once upon a 
time’ what?” 

“A good old man came to a wicked old 
man — ” 

“No! not if it’s you, papa,” insisted Eloise. 

“And told him,” went on Roger, unheeding 
the interruption, “that his son — ” 

‘ ‘ W alter — yes, ’ ’ eagerl3^ 

“Was coming to see him soon — perhaps to- 
morrow ” 

“Oh, papa! how grand. Oh, Ruth! all our 
anxiety and sorrow for nothing.” 

“Dear uncle,” said Ruth, feelingly, stepping 


18 


A Mistaken Identity. 


to him and laying her light fingers upon his 
shoulders, “ this is indeed a weleome tidings. 

“Aye, ehildren. Providence has been kind to 
us in sparing our boy when many another has 
been laid low. Offer up your thanks to-night 
to the kind Father who has so blessed us in 
this matter. You will remain with us to-night, 
friend Bell.” 

“Gladl}^ Roger,” answered the minister, ‘in 
view of the events to happen. I would gladly 
be one of the first to welcome my old pupil 
home.” 

The Rev. Mr. Bell was sitting with his back 
toward one of the French windows, that 
opened out upon the side lawn, and facing the 
other occupants of the room . Ruth had passed 
to the other side of the room and turning, 
leaned upon the edge of the ledge to the large 
fire-place. As the reverend gentleman com- 
pleted his last sentence she turned to look 
toward him, when her eyes rested upon the 
face of a man half hidden by the folds of a lace 
curtain, which hung at the window’s side, 
partly covering the pane. The others were 
too much occupied with their own thoughts 
to notice the change that came suddenly over 


A Mistaken Identity. 


19 


her face, which had paled to the very brow. 
With a startled cry she sxirang toward the win- 
dow with hands extended, as if to ward off a 
blow, and spasm odicall3^ grasping the curtain, 
pulled it from its fastenings. 

They all crowded about her, but could see 
nothing. She was too late and there was no 
sign of an intruder, but in a few moments the 
sound of pattering hoofs was heard hurrying 
up the road. Not a word had been sjDoken, 
but now with one accord they turned upon 
her three pairs of questioning eyes. The fright- 
ened girl sank into a chair and covered her face 
with her hands. 

“There my child, said Roger, soothingly, 
“tell us what has frightened 3^ou.” 

“A dark face at the window,” she replied, 
shuddering. “Some spy, I am sure.” 

“Calm 3"ourself, my love,” continued her 
uncle, “there is nothing alarming in the cir- 
cumstance. We are too well protected here to 
fear trouble from mischief makers. Come 
Eloise, a song to cheer us all, then we will 
retire to the diningroom, for I see Luce’s shiny 
face bobbing this way, and that means a call 
to tea.” 


CHAPTER II. 


love’s young dream. 

The night was far advanced. The moon had 
risen and was shedding its silvery light over 
the landscape, causing a few of the younger 
chanticleers to herald forth the false alarm of 
a waking day. In the negro quarters could be 
heard the joyous laugh and plantation song of 
the hands as they rested from their toil. 

In the house all was quiet, its inmates hav- 
ing repaired to their several rooms, all save 
two ; for in the little library (as the old gentle- 
man loved to call his den, where a few old 
books and heavy carved mahogany desk con- 
stituted very nearly the sole furniture), father 
and daughter still lingered. Eloise had started 
to retire, but, as her father turned into this 
room, a sudden impulse seized her and she re- 
turned, and, setting the candle on the desk, 
sank at his feet and rested her elbow on his 
knee. 

Reclining thus, and looking up into his face, 

•JO 


A Mistaken Identity. 


21 


the girl presented a picture an artist might 
have studied with profit. The flickering can- 
dle showed the fine Greek profile to advantage, 
and gaye a golden hue to the fair hair. The 
dark eyes seemed darker still in the shadow, 
and the light gleamed on the moist lips and 
shone through the transparency of the deli- 
cate nostrils. Could one blame the fond old 
man for spoiling her a little, or wonder at the 
soft, tender light that came into the kind gray 
eyes as he looked down upon her? 

*‘So the little girl lingered to have a chat 
with the old father,” said Roger, tenderly 
caressing the golden head with his huge hand, 
that was powerful enough to have crushed it, 
yet was gentle in its touch as a woman’s. 
“When Walter comes, she will have another 
to love, will she not?” 

“Jealous old thing,” laughed Eloise, “it will 
be for such a short time, and then he will go 
away again and you will have all the petting.” 

“That is a rare, brave brother of 3^ours, is 
he not, my pet? Do you remember how he 
broke the colt that Jupe could not tame, and 
how proud the old man was of it ? Ah ! he 
has been the pride of my old age as you have 


22 


A Mistaken Identity. 


been its joy. How proud I was of him when 
he fought the panther in the pine-wood, and 
eame home without a murmur at his bleeding 
wounds.’^ 

^^Oh! but papa,^’ interrupted the daughter, 

do n’t you remember how Henry Carter ar- 
rived Justin time to save him, when the beast 
was getting the better of him, and how they 
brought the carcass home between them. 
How proud we all were of them.” 

‘‘True, true! I owe Henry Carter one for 
that, but I doubt not our boy has paid the 
debt many times during the wars, and that 
reminds me : In my happiness I had forgotten 
to acquaint you with the full import of the 
message brought me by friend Bell, for Walter 
does not return alone.” 

“Who brings he with him, papa? Some of 
our acquaintance? ” 

“Aye, child, none other than Henry Carter 
himself, who has been dispatched on some mis- 
sion this way, and will leave his troop for a 
few hours to pay us a flying visit — how, now, 
little one? ” 

The question was prompted by the sudden 
trembling of the little hand he held. With the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


23 


other Roger turned the burning face toward 
the candle-light, and beheld the flaming blush 
that mounted from neck to brow. The old 
man pondered for a moment as the fair head 
hid itself upon his knees. His thoughts went 
back to her childhood, and with lightning-like 
rapidity reviewed her life. Then his own 
young life arose before him with vivid distinct- 
ness. His own love for a fair being so like the 
dear one before him. Had he been blind ? 
Had this all but stranger stolen in unnoticed 
by him, and won from his keeping the young 
heart he had held treasured so close to his 
own ? Softly, oh, so softly the kind old hand 
caressed the sunny head, and bending to kiss 
tlie fair young brow, a tear trembled for an 
instant on the gra3" lashes, then dropped upon 
the bended head where it shone for an instant, 
like a dew-drop in the morning sun. 

“Oh! papa,” exclaimed the startled girl, half 
rising and stealing both arms about his neck; 
“you are weeping. What have I done?” 

“Nothing, my child,” and the brave old voice 
was a little husky, though it strove so bravely 
to appear calm. “ You have done nothing. 
A 1 other has stolen in and seeks to pluck the 


24 


A Mistaken Identity. 


tender plant I have reared and cherished — 
seeks to possess it, without warning to the 
old man that loves it so well. I like the young 
niau well, and thought better of him than 
that he would not first ask my consent, before 
hehad— ” 

With a sudden motion the pink palm had 
covered his lips, and the fair head nestled closer 
to his breast. 

“ Oh ! don’t think that, dear,” she whispered, 
“because I, foolish girl that I am, have be- 
trayed my secret to my kind old papa, do not 
think for a moment that he would dare — oh ! 
I could never forgive him for being so base.” 

“Then my little girl has given her love, un- 
asked, unsought?” asked the father, reproach- 
fully. 

“ Oh, how unkind ! Men are so cruel. They 
handle plain facts as they would an axe, and 
hew with the sharp end. I doubt if I knew 
this myself before you, papa. The knowledge 
seemed to come to me with the thought of his 
soon return and the memor3^ of our j^oung 
days. Oh ! do not try to fathom the whj^s and 
the wherefores of a woman’s heart. Happy 
is she if she can read it herself. I knew " 


A Mistaken Identity. 


25 


was happy in his presence; that the day 
seemed short when he passed it beneath our 
roof; that when away I have often seen him in 
my dreams fighting hand to hand with the 
enemy, and then I have prayed for him men- 
tally, that he might be spared to — to those he 
loved. It did not seem to me selfish. My love 
for you and Walter and Ruth seemed to 
brighten and expand as the new thought grew 
upon me, and to-night I have awakened to the 
truth, and — turn your head away — so — I know 
that your willful, naughty little girl loves 
Henry, with all the heart she has left after the 
great big piece she has bestowed upon her kind 
old papa.” 

“ But, after all, I must be content with but a 
part,” said he, sorrowfully, “and must sit 
calmly by and see another usurp my place. 
What if your jealous old father should refuse 
his consent? No; dear heart!” he exclaimed, 
as a startled look swept over the sweet face 
before him; “I meant not to frighten you. 
You shall have your way in this, but bear with 
the old man, who feels so keenly the loss of his 
little daughter, and believe that his one wish 


2G 


A Mistaken Identity. 


is for the happiness of the dear one he loves so 
well.’’ 

“But I would not leave you, dear,” said 
Eloise, clinging to him loviugl3^; “it is but a 
short distance to Delside, and I shall insist 
upon being here ha// the time, and then you 
could come and visit me the other half.” 

“What an ingenious little scheme it is,” said 
the father, laughing softl3"; “but you must 
hasten to bed little one, for it is near the small 
hours, and my little girl will need to look her 
best on the morrow.” 

“ Good -night, papa,” whispered Eloise, with 
a mighty hug and kiss; “good -night, to the 
best, dearest, kindest old duck in the world.” 

“Good-night, dear heart, and don’t forget 
a prayer for the safety of those we love, who, 
perchance even now are wrapped in sleep, with 
only the starlit canopy above them, their 
hearts looking forward in their dreams to the 
meeting with those that hold them dear.” 

He opened the door for her in his old-fash- 
ioned, courtly wa3% and watched her as she 
tripped down the hall and up the stairs. The 
candle gli m:red like a star ii the dark li dl- 
way, ana, as she turned to wait a kiss to him 


A Mistaken Identity. 


27 


from the head of the stairs, it lit up her fair, 
happy face for an instant, then she turned and 
disappeared into her own room. 

How many times in the months that fol- 
lowed Roger Fuller’s vision turned to that 
pretty picture and caused him to sigh as his 
aching heart longed for the days of her child- 
hood, when her laugh was bright and joyous, 
and the happy young face free from the lines 
of care and heart-break. Could he have had a 
look at the sealed book whose pages hold the 
secrets of the future, he would have spirited 
her away, far from there, before the morrow 
dawned. 

With a weary sigh he turned to the window, 
and drawing the curtain, looked out upon the 
moonlit night. Far away to the East dark 
clouds were gathering, and a faint breeze was 
stirring the leaves of the old trees in the grove. 

Gleaming in the moonlight, the highway 
could be distinctly seen between the interven- 
ing tree trunks. Coming down the road, at a 
canter, Roger saw two horsemen, the scabbard 
of the broadswords at their side gleaming 
brightly. He drew open a drawer in his desk 
and possessed himself of a pair of pistols. He 


28 


A Mistaken Identity. 


examined them carefull3^ and silently placed 
them on the sill beside him. Nearer drew the 
hoi'semen, and now he could hear the clatter of 
the hoofs on the road. He could not distin 
guish the uniforms they wore, and waited 
breathlessl}^ until they shotdd reach the open- 
ing, where the view would be more unob- 
structed. 

The low whine of a dog came to him from 
without, and then a sound as if the animal 
was tugging at a chain. Suddenly it fell to 
the ground with a rattle and a large hound 
bounded across the lawn toward the ap- 
proaching horsemen. He had evidently 
slipped his collar in his efforts to break loose. 
The watcher at the window gazed in suspense 
at the onward rush of the dog. With a 
mighty bound he sprang at one of the mounted 
men, but with an evident bark of joy, then 
turning, bounded on before them, his express- 
ive tail evincing every symptom of extrava- 
gant joy. 

There was no doubt now. The dog could 
not be mistaken. It was indeed the young 
men so ardently expected, who now neared 
the house. Without other covering on his 


A Mistaken Identity. 


29 


head than its own gray curls Roger hastened 
to meet them. The greeting of father and son 
was a silent one. No words were needed to 
tell each other their joA^, and the old man’s 
heart was too full for speech. With brave loy- 
alt}^ he could give his only son to his country’s 
need, and if Heaven spared him, it was a 
cause for thankfulness that words could not 
express. He pressed the 3^oung man closely in 
his arms for an instant, then held out his hand 
to the companion in hearty greeting. 

He felt a tenderness for the young visitor 
that was new to him. If we care for our own 
truly, everything that is dear to them becomes 
in a like degree dear in our eyes, and Roger 
yielded to the influence, and in thought took 
the young man to his heart. 

They assembled in the dining-room, and 
drew their chairs near together, conversing in 
low tones, that they might not waken the 
sleepers up stairs. 

“You will excuse the light fora moment,” 
said Roger. “I fancy you have both outlived 
3^our fear of the dark.” 

“If we had not,” replied Walter, “the wars 


30 


A Mistaken Identity. 


are a good school to cure one of that little ner- 
vousness.’’ 

Roger was absent but a short time, when he 
returned carrying tenderly in his hand a dark, 
cobwebbed bottle. 

“One of the few of the old ^32’”, he said 
apologetically. “There can be no fitter time 
than the present to draw one of the old corks, 
so fill up your glasses, my sons, and we will 
drink to the success of the Continental arms 
and in honor of your return, safe and sound to 
the old roof. 

“It is wonderful,” said Henry Carter as he 
held out his glass for the old man to fill, “the 
number of escapes we have had, and the bul- 
lets we have all but dodged, in order to be 
able to say, ^here we are,’ at this time. The 
redcoats have done all in their power to pre- 
vent our drinking this glass with your father. 
Eh! Walter?” 

“True,” answered Walter, “mayhap they 
will be more successful in the future. “There 
are stirring times ahead.” 

“ I see the mark of a scar,” said Roger, “that 
looks ugly where the hair leaves bare the scalp. 
That like to have been a close escape, m 3 ^ bo 3 ^” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


31 


“Aye, answered Walter, laugliing softly, ‘‘I 
owe that to our friend Ralph Pepper. It was 
a wicked cut, which I partly parried, and he 
escaped my return blow. Henry tried a shot 
at him with his pistol, but to no effect.’^ 

“The beggar ducked as I. fired,” said Henry 
regretfully, “or I should have had him.” 

“’Tis sad,” remarked Roger thoughtfully, 
“to think of those who were our friends and 
neighbors, as being armed against us. They 
know the country well and are harder to beat 
off than the red coats. Had they all been with 
us, Carolina would have had a different tale 
to tell.” 

“That she will soon, at all events,” cried 
Walter. “A crisis is approaching which will 
give to our arms, all in the state, and I trust 
leave to us more peace than we have had in 
the past years.” 

“Hist, not so loud, my son,” said Roger. 
“And now young men, as the wine is finished, 
be off with you to bed. You have but a few 
hours to rest, and then for a surprise in the 
morning. Your own room is vacant Walter ; 
the girls insist on keeping it alwa3^s in readi- 
ness for your return at any minute.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE AWAKENING. 

It was tlie afternoon of the next da3^ The 
old man sat in his study looking out dreamily 
through the open windows. In honor of the 
son’s visit a holiday had been given all hands,, 
and happiness reigned supreme. Lesser eares 
were forgotten in the joy of having him with 
them again. The hands had all come up to 
the house to welcome him. Luce, the cook, 
had put the table in gala-day attire, and pre- 
pared a dinner that drew exclamations of de- 
light from those assemliled. The first excite- 
ment over, the reaction had come and Roger 
was trjdng to make himself realize the fact 
that soon they must say good-bye once more, 
perchance forever. 

The opening of the door roused him from 
his reverie and he turned to confront Ruth 
and Henry Carter, the former with a height- 
ened color upon her mobile features, and the 
latter a little ill at ease. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


33 


‘‘All alone, nncle?’’ asked Rutli ; “and in 
one of your dreaming fits, I ’ll be bound.” 

“All! Ruth, my dear; sit down, Henry; 
\'OU were not absent from my thoughts.” 

The brave old man paused for an instant 
to turn away his head, that thej^ might not 
see the saddened expression of his face. He 
soon recovered himself and turned to them 
with one of his rare smiles. 

“It seems hard to part from him so soon, 
and to feel that it may be for the last time.” 

“Don’t feel that way, sir,” said Henry, 
cheerily. “ For I think we have seen the worst 
of it, and feel confident that no ill will befall 
him. Walter is one of the lucky ones. I have 
seen him pass through a storm of lead without 
a scratch.” 

“Thanks, young man, for ^^our cheering 
words,” answered Roger, holding out his 
hand to the 3^oung man. “Walter has told 
me how 3'OU have saved him from many ills 
liy 3^our ready arm, and I thank you for that, 
also.” 

“Oh ! he has done the same for me, many a 
time,” said Henry, laughing. “It’s a sort of 


34 


A Mistaken Identity. 


fair exchange with us. We got used to it 
years ago.” 

The old man did not notice the glances that 
passed between the two young people. If he 
had he would have seen that there was more 
to this visit to his room than appeared on the 
face of things. Ruth was ever casting a nerv- 
ous, appealing glance upon Henry who, in 
turn, would answer with a reassuring smile, 
as if asking her to trust to his discretion. 

You are aware, Mr. Fuller,” began Henry, 
after a pause, ‘‘that previous to my departure 
to the battles with the enemy, I made your 
house almost my home — ” 

“And welcome, too, 3^oung sir,” interrupted 
Roger, “ both for your father’s sake and your 
own.” 

“Beneath the same roof, I was thrown into 
daily intercourse,” continued he, unheeding, 
and rambling on in a down-hill sort of fash- 
ion, “with two lovely girls, whose bright 
faces and kindly natures did much toward 
making of me as good a man even as I now 
am.” 

The old gentleman pricked up his ears at 
this, and nodded at Ruth, with a very near 


A Mistaken Identity. 


35 


approach to a wink. This seemed only a 
natural continuance of the little love story 
he had listened to the night before, and doubt- 
less Ruth was in the secret. He smiled in an 
eneouraging sort of way for the young man to 
continue. 

‘‘And now, sir,” said Henry, almost trem- 
bling in his eagerness, ‘‘what is more natural 
than that the man should follow up the fan- 
cies of the boy, and ask this young lady, with 
her dear uncle’s eonsent, to be his wife? ” 

As he finished speaking, he had taken Ruth’s 
hand, and the pair stood before him, she 
blushing and trembling, he exultant and 
eager. 

The poor old man sat like one stunned. 

The blow had fallen, and he was little pre- 
pared to meet it. He saw them standing there 
before him, hand in hand. The handsome 
young man he was proud to call his friend, and 
the beautiful girl he loved next to one other 
the best on earth. He saw what they could 
not see, a pale faced figure tottering in the 
doorway to which two feeble little hands clung 
for support. Only for a moment did it last. 
The pale face was lifted bravelj^ the slight 


36 


A Mistaken Identity. 


form straightened, and the old man saw that 
the little girl had left him, and that it was a 
woman who advaneed toward him, stern in 
purpose and firm as adamant, in wheit she 
thought her duty. 

A sigh that was almost a groan eseaped 
him as the full conseiousness of his daughter’s 
misery beeame apparent. He saw the battle 
that la3^ before her. A battle which she must 
fight alone, and meet bravely. She had been 
tenderly reared. No heart sorrows had come 
to her since early childhood, when her mother 
had been taken from them. She was like a 
flower that no rude winds had been allowed 
to touch, and now how cruel h'-withovit warn- 
ing had the blow fallen. 

The poor girl saw her own trouble reflected 
upon the kind old face, and how hard the 
position was in which he was placed. His 
must be the hand to finish the stroke. She 
must not let her poor old father feel that she 
owed any of her misfortune to him. Softly 
she approached the anxious pair and took a 
hand of each in her own cold palm. 

^‘Dear Ruth-Henry,” she said, softly, “for- 
give me that I have overheard your confession. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


37 


Oh ! may you be happy forever in each other’s 
love. Papa, bless them — tell them how glad 
we all are that this should be.” 

But still he looked at them helplessly, and it 
was only the imploring look in his daughter’s 
eyes that made him speak at last : 

‘^Eloise,” he said tenderly , ‘^dear, kind heart ; 
How could I refuse when you plead for them 
so loyally? Take her, Henry; the gift comes 
from my little girl as well, for Ruth was her 
pla3Tellow and sister. I need not ask you to 
guard her jealously. You know how dear she 
is to all of us. 

The sorrowing old man drew his daughter 
to him and clasped her face close to his own. 

‘‘My brave one,” he whispered softly, “it 
was well done. Remember where to come for 
comfort, close to your father’s heart.” 

“Never fear, sir,” cried Henry, joyously, “I 
think I know her worth, and heaven helping 
me, I will be worthy of her.” 

“Uncle,” said Ruth, blushing vividly, then 
pausing as if ashamed to proceed. 

“Well, dear,” said Roger encouragingly, 
“go on.” 

“ You know how soon Walter and— and Henr3/ 


38 


A Mistaken IdentitiT. 


are to leave us-and— and all is so -uncertain--” 

'‘You see, sir,” said Henry, coming to her 
assistance, “all is so uncertain in war, that we 
thought-— Ruth and I— that we might be mar- 
ried at once — ” 

“Great heavens, young man,” burst out 
Roger, astonished, “you know not what you 
ask.” 

“Papa,” said Eloise, raising a white, plead- 
ing face to his, “I think they are right.” 

“Reflect, my dear,” argued he stvibbornly; 
“what will people think? Such undue haste 
was never heard of.” 

“But, sir — ” began Henry. 

“There, there,” said Roger, “leave me alone 
awhile to think it over. Stay Eloise. I would 
have you with me. You see, young people, 
you leave a champion behind, of no mean 
ability.” 

Alone with his daughter, the old man did 
not speak for some minutes. The poor child 
needed time to recover herself He knew that 
her pride would uphold her while the lovers 
were present. How would it be when alone 
with himself? Would she still favor this 
speedy marriage ? Under other circumstanres 


A Mistaken Identity. 


39 


he could not have allowed it under any con- 
sideration, but would it not be best for his 
daughter's peace of mind? He was too well 
aware of her strength of character to believe 
that her own love was a passing fancy. It 
had grown upon her little by little, this dream 
of love, and the awakening was a terrible 
reality. God help her to bear it. 

“ Poor, little girl,^’ he said, tenderly, kissing 
the pale cheek. “ Her first heart trouble.’^ 

“Don’t speak of it, father,’’ said Eloise, with 
a dry sol?. “I have acted like a foolish child, 
and now I know better — now that it is too 
late. Please let it be forgotten, or if not, 
think of last night as only a dream. I am 
awake now, am I not? We must forget our 
dreams, and deal only with realities. This 
marriage is a reality, papa.” 

“Do you wish it?” asked Roger, studying 
her face narrowly, as he awaited her answer. 

“ Oh ! can you not see that it will be for the 
best ? Best for them, and best for me. Before 
he returns I will be accustomed to it. I will 
talk daily with Ruth about her — her husband, 
and it will be so much easier for me to forget 
what I now feel. Kiss me, papa. Do you not 


40 


Mistaken Identity. 


see that I am brave? Brave enough to run 
and tell them, if you will but say yes.’’ 

“Be it so then ; but we will go together, al- 
ways together, clear. Here in this little study 
you can find ])eace and cjuiet, alwaj^s a S3"mpa- 
thizing ear to listen, and a loving heart in 
which to confide.” 

Arm in arm the pair made their way to the 
front room, where the young lovers anxiously 
awaited their coming, conversing in low tones, 
and looking at times with looks of expectanc^^ 
toward the open door. Seated by the open 
window, Walter and Mr. Bell were holding one 
of their old time tilts at argument, in which 
they loved to indulge upon ever^" convenient 
opportunit3^, and were too well occupied to 
notice the rather tell-tale actions of the other 
occupants of the room. 

It needed no second look for the lovers to 
read upon the faces of both father and daugh- 
ter, that the consent of the old man had been 
gained. 

“Friend Bell,” said Roger, “I fancy we shall 
have need of your services in a little matter.” 

“Indeed!” said the minister, wonderingly. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


41 


‘‘I doubt, by your face, that much has gone 
amiss. How can I serve you ?” 

Here is a young man who wishes to take 
upon himself,” answered Roger, indicating 
Henry by a wave of the hand, “the shackles 
of wedlock, before returning to the wars.” 

“Bless my heart!” said Joshua, completely 
nonplussed. “ And who, may I ask, is the happy 
maiden ? Ah ! no need to ask ; blushes can 
speak for themselves. What think you of that, 
Walter, eh ?” 

“You see, I have been sort of in the secret/’ 
answered Walter, laughing; “the bivouac is a 
wonderful place to draw confidences from one’s 
friends. Cousin, allow me to wish you joy. 
Henry, my more than friend, to 3^ou my con- 
gratulations.” 

“Young man,” said Joshua, solemnly, “3^ou 
have won the greatest prize Heaven can be- 
stow upon one of its unworthy children, the 
love of a sweet, true woman. God bless you, 
boy !” 

“When is the — affair to occur?” UvSked 
Walter. 

“I think, to-morrow morning,” answered 


42 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Roger; '‘that is, if we can prevail upon Mr. 
Bell to remain with us.’^ 

“Whew!” whistled Walter, “that is rapid 
with a vengeance. Then I’m off. I’ll tell all 
hands at the cabins, and we will give them a 
‘send-off.’ ” 

“You see,” said Henry, in explanation, after 
Walter had left the room, “I thought it best 
to provide for Ruth in case anything should 
happen to me. I have considerable property, 
and it will make me so much easier in mind, 
while in this campaign, to feel that in case any- 
thing should happen to me, Ruth will have 
that for her own. Not that I have any mis- 
givings,” he continued, hastily, as he noted a 
startled look upon the face of his betrothed ; 
“it is a fancy with me, and I am thankful that 
I am to have my way.” 

“There is sense in the 3^oung man’s remarks,” 
interrupted Joshua. “Exceptional cases re- 
quire exceptional remedies. So you will lose 
one of your girls, Roger. Ah ! would I were 
forty years younger, I would strive for the 
other one!” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A WEDDING AND A SEPARATION. 

Although such short notice had been given, 
the house presented quite a gala appearance. 
The plantation hands had been up with the 
sun, gathering wild flowers, laden with the 
morning dew, and had filled every vase, and 
covered every bracket and projecting ledge in 
the spacious parlor with the fragrant blos- 
soms. This had all been accomplished before 
the family were awake in the morning, and it 
was a pleasant surprise to them as they passed 
the open parlor door on their way to break- 
fast, and inhaled the fresh perfume of nature's 
own garden. 

The atmosphere of the whole house seemed 
filled with that feverish expectancy that a 
wedding always inspires in a household, the 
daily routine of which is usually devoid of ex- 
citements of any kind. The father and daugh- 
ter were the only ones who seemed to possess 
their usual frame of mind. Eloise had passed 

43 


44 


A Mistaken Identity. 


a restless night. She was angry with herself 
for having given wa^^ to her feelings. She had 
also to confess that Henry had given her no 
cause for her to assume that she was more to 
him, than the playfellow and sister with whom 
she had grown up, nearly as closely as with 
her own brother. It was true the lovers had 
been singularly reticent in their wooing, and 
Eloise could remember nothing in the actions 
of either Ruth or Heniy, to lead her to sup- 
pose that they cared for each other. Had her 
eyes been opened earlier, how much pain it 
would have spared her. 

This morning she was a little tired, but no 
one could guess, from her actions, the heart- 
ache under which she was suffering. She car- 
ried her part in the general conversation, and 
replied to the sallies of wit, usual on such oc- 
casions, with an apparent light-heartedness, 
which none but her father detected as an effort 
on her part. 

There was nothing sordid in her nature. 
She did not feel hard toward Ruth for having 
won the love she had wished for herself. She 
loved her cousin dearly, and felt that she was 
worthy of the love of the man she had won. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


45 


She must learn to/orget herself and help them 
in their happiness, but she felt how hard it 
was to join in the general rejoicing, and wished 
in her heart that the day was done, and she 
could lock herself in her own room and pray 
for strength to bear her sorrow. 

Outside the open windows on the lawn, the 
negro hands had grouped themselves, await- 
ing the ceremony, and as the family arose from 
the breakfast table, the sweet melody of a 
plantation hymn was wafted in through the 
windows, filling the house with its quaint 
strains, and seeming to breathe a blessing 
upon the young couple so soon to be united. 

Blessings upon the open-hearted, untram- 
meled black man of colonial times. Careless 
and happy; ragged, and none too prone to 
cleanliness, there was a depth of love in his 
untutored nature that was well worth the 
winning, and happ3" was the master that had 
found his way to their hearts. The old peo- 
ple of a household were their fathers and 
mothers; the young people their children, and 
they were sympathizing sharers in the joys 
and griefs of each. 

As the family entered the parlor, a subdued 


46 


A Mistaken Identity. 


shout went up from the assembled group, and 
many were the exelamations that greeted them. 
^‘Lo'd bress Massa Henry! ” 

“We gib yo’ joy, sweet Miss Ruth ! ” 
“Happy, happy days, chiren!^^ 

“Bress us all! 

“Halleluyah! 

As Henry had sueh a short time to spare, 
having to rejoin his troop on the following 
morning, no time was lost in preparing for the 
ceremony, and they all drew near the Rev. Mr. 
Bell, while he addressed a few words to the 
young people on the solemnit3" of the occasion, 
and the lasting contract they were about to 
enter upon. 

There was but little attempt at ostentation 
about the personal preparations for the wed- 
ding. The young men had brushed up their 
uniforms and wore nosegays upon their 
breasts. Roger had donned the blue broad- 
cloth he always wore for state occasions, to- 
gether with a brand new pair of black silk 
hose, of Ruth's own knitting, his shoes sur- 
mounted by a pair of huge silver buckles that 
were an heirloom in the family. His hair was 
fastened with a wide bow behind, while his tie 


A Mistaken Identity. 


47 


looked especially neat, having been knotted 
by his daughter with especial care. 

The ladies had donned their best frocks, and 
made np with an abundance of flowers what 
they lacked in dress. Ruth looked fresh and 
sweet in an old-rose colored crepe de chine 
over-dress, parted in front, opening from the 
waist, showing a richly embroidered under- 
skirt of heavy white satin. Her face was all 
aglow with excitement, which gave it a hue 
that set off her dark beauty in all its warmth 
and coloring. 

Eloise, a little paler than usual, stood at 
her side, holding her father’s hand, as if for 
sympathy; taking comfort in the reassuring 
pressure he gave her small fingers as they lay 
in his. A pale cream India cloth draped her 
perfect, slim figure ; a bunch of crimson rose- 
buds were fastened at the throat, reflecting 
their brilliant hue upon her pale cheeks. Sim- 
ple as was her dress, nothing could have been 
sweeter or more pleasing to the eye, and mur- 
murs of tender admiration at her young beauty 
were heard from the dusky throng outside. 

The simple ceremonj^ was soon over, and no 
sooner did the minister’s solemn tone proclaim 


48 


A Mistaken Identity. 


them man and wife than a shower of flowers, 
hurled through the windows, fell over them and 
at their feet, and a loud shout of mirth went 
up from the plantation hands, followed by an- 
other outburst of melody that came from the 
hearts of the singers. Listening to the song, 
and forgetful of all else but the excitement 
surrounding the wedding ceremony, the little 
household did not notice that a horseman 
reined into the opening from the surrounding 
grove with drawn sword. He wore the Brit- 
ish uniform. 

For one moment he halted to take in the 
surroundings, then raising his sword as a sig- 
nal, he dashed straight toward the house. In- 
stantaneousljs from all sides, a troop of horse 
burst from the wood and surrounded the 
house. It was a complete surprise to the little 
party. The}" were all unarmed. The j^oung 
men had left off their swords and were power- 
less to defend themselves, and there seemed no 
chance but to submit. 

Two officers dismounted and entered the 
house, while the rest of the troop guarded the 
negro hands and cut off all avenues of escape. 

“Whom have I the honor of addressing?” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


49 


asked Roger stiffly, as lie advaneed direetly in 
front of them. “I need no introdne ion to 
this man,’' indieating the taller of the two 
with a eontemptuous wave of the hand. 
“Ralph Pepper is too well-known to us to 
need introduetion.” 

“Captain Harper, at your serviee, sir,” said 
the offleer, bowing. “You will pardon this 
intrusion. “It was not our intention to inter- 
rupt your festivities, but I must beg to inform 
these two young gentlemen that they are m3' 
prisoners.” 

“Had we our arms about us, 3^ou would 
have to take us, first,” exelaimed Walter, 
hotl3^ 

“Oh! be quiet, brother,” whispered Eloise, 
laying a restraining hand upon his arm. “Do 
not anger them.” 

“It is as well, said Ralph Pepper, with a 
sneer, “that you have not, as it saves your 
preeious eareass a few bullet holes.” 

During this colloquy, Ruth had turned pale 
and an angry light now shone in her usually 
mild eyes. Walking straight to where the 
speaker stood, she said, in a ringing voice: 

“So — Ralph Pe]3per, 3^ou are the spy that 


50 


A Mistaken Identity. 


hangs about people's houses at night, and 
peers in at the windows like a common thief. 
Are you not ashamed of your manhood, that 
you should stoop so low ? ” 

“I but served my king,” he replied, flushing 
uneasily under her taunt, ‘‘and have not been 
guilty of self abasement in so doing. It is you 
rebels who should blush, not I.” 

“Then why do your checks crimson, even as 
you try to defend yourself? Hear me all,” she 
said turning to the rest. “This man did me 
the izouor” with withering contempt, “tore- 
quest my hand in marriage, which honor I 
promptly refused. He takes this method for 
his revenge. Oh! it is but ill treatment Walter 
and Henr^^ will receive at his hands.” 

“We thank you, sir, for the honor,” said 
Henry advancing to him. “Meanwhile keep 
this in token of our sincere thanks,” and before 
any one could interfere he struck him a power- 
ful blow which felled him to the floor. 

“Oh! what have you done?” cried Ruth, 
springing in front of him as if to defend him 
with her own body. 

“Don’t worry for that,” said Captain Har- 
per, laughing softly, “here, men, carry Pepper 


A Mistaken Identity. 


51 


out and dash his face with water, some of you. 
He isn’t well liked in the eonipany, and it will 
be a good one to tell the mess. As for your 
treatment, gentlemen, you are my prisoners 
and not his, and as such will receive such cour- 
tesy as one gentleman can extend to another.” 

see, sir,” said Henry, heartily, “that you 
are a gentleman, and w^e surrender ourselves 
to you.” 

“Thanks, young sir. Do you give me your 
word of honor not to attempt to escape? ” 

“No, sir,” said Henry, firmly. 

“I am sorry,” said the officer, “otherwise I 
shall have to bind your arms, and you, sir?” 
turning to Walter. 

But Walter had not waited for the question. 
He was a man of quick resolve and rapid exe- 
cution. With a bound he had eleared the win- 
dow and a few rapid strides brought him to 
the side of the nearest trooper. Before the 
man knew what had happened Walter had. 
leaped upon the horse behind him and had 
pinioned his arms to his sides, with an iron 
grip that few could withstand. With a wild 
yell he flung his heels against the flanks of the 
horse, and the startled animal gave a snort 


52 


A Mistaken Identity. 


and a bound directly toward the sheltering 
grove. 

It would have been an easy matter, for a 
man possessed of Walter’s extraordinary 
strength, to have unseated the trooper from 
his saddle and thus, apparently, have stood a 
better chance of escape without a doubly bur- 
dened horse, but his reason was now obvious 
as several of the men raised their pistols to 
fire at him, but feared to hurt their comrade 
in the attempt. They were so taken by sur- 
prise for an instant that they sat still in their 
saddles, too astonished to pursue, and Walter 
had a good start ere he heard the officer’s 
voice urging his* men in pursuit. A moment 
more and he had gained the grove, that grad- 
ually thickened into a dense wood and made a 
rapidly riding horseman practically safe from 
bullets from the rear. Here Walter disarmed 
the trooper he held in front of him by first divest- 
ing him of his pistol and then unhooking the 
sword belt, while his arms still pinioned those 
of the man to his side. 

‘‘Sorry to part with you, my friend,” said 
Walter, chuckling grimly, ‘‘but you’ll have to 


A Mistaken Ideltity. 


53 


take a fl3ang dismount, as I have no further 
use for you.’^ 

He raised him bodilj^ from the saddle and 
held him at the side, letting him fall with a 
erash as they came to a little opening among 
the trees, and directly into the midst of a 
thick clump of underbrush that made the fall 
less disagreeable than a contact with the hard 
ground would have done. 

Faith,’’ muttered the trooper as he picked 
himself out of a tangled mass of broken shrub 
and torn uniform, and watched the disappear- 
ing form of Walter among the trees, “it may 
be moighty aisy whin ye know how; but I’m 
d d if he ain’t a young goint, entirely.” 

Just then some of the troopers dashed up 
and one of them held in his horse for a mo- 
ment. 

“Which wa^^ did he go Teddy?” he asked. 

“Did who go ? ” 

“ Why ! who do you suppose, you fool ? ” 

“ The horse ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, horse and man. Where ? ” 

“To the divil av coorse, an’ ye’d like to fol- 
low. Go on wid ye. It’s meself that’ll go 


A Mistaken Identity. 


r>4« 

back to the house to get a wink at the purty 
gurls. They’ll admire me stoile.” 

The trooper dashed on with an oath to join 
his companions. Walter, however, was too 
well acquainted with the country to allow 
them to catch him so easiljq and he led them a 
chase which soon lost them, for the present at 
least. Making a short cut he reached the 
high road, and walked his panting beast to 
give him a little needed rest. He argued that 
his pursuers were still dashing about in pur- 
suit of him, and that a little rest would give 
his jaded animal that much advantage, should 
they by chance again get in sight. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound 
of hoofs upon the road. He listened intently, 
but as the sound grew nearer he was certain 
there was but one horse, the clatter being too 
distinct for a number of them. He drew his 
own horse to one side of the road, where he 
would be hid from view by the bend of the 
road, until the approaching foe was almost 
upon him, and looked carefully at the priming 
of the pistol, he held in his hand, smiling grimly 
the while. 

‘^Whoever it is, he is mounting good horse- 


A Mistaken Identiti^. 


55 


flesh/’ muttered he, ^‘and is coming at great 
speed.” 

Ill a moment more the horse and rider 
dashed into view, and Walter’s pistol was 
leveled. 

^‘Gora mighty! Massa Walter, don’t 
shoot ! ” hallooed the new comer reining in the 
beast he rode so suddenly as to throw it back 
upon its haunches. “Its only me.” 

“What, Sam! and my horse Tempest!” ex- 
claimed Walter, joyously. “How on earth did 
you manage it ? ” 

“Dat’s berry easy massa,” grinned Sam, 
showing a row of ivories a half inch in width. 
“De sojer men nebber miss Sam, an I jest 
steal away an ’ saddle Tempes ’ an ’ git to de 
road. Hyah am de pistols an de swo’d fo’ 
yo ’, too. Golly ! I had a ride.” 

“Well done, brave boy,” said Walter dis- 
mounting. “Here take this sword in exchange, 
and mount the trooper’s norse. Now, Tem- 
pest, my boy,” patting the horse’s neck, “let 
them catch us, who can ! ” 

Sam buckled on the long sword after he had 
mounted the horse and felt so much a soldier 
that he begged to accompany his young mas- 


56 


A Mistaken Identity. 


ter in his flight, but this Walter would not con- 
sent to. 

“ Ride back directly ! ” he said, “ and tell them 
all that I am safe, and get a woid to Henry, 
if \'ou can without being overlieard, that I will 
attempt a rescue before he reaches Charleston. 
You are needed there more than with me, and 
you are sharp, and may be of some assistance. 
Try to cheer up the girls, and tell them not to 
fret.” 

With that he wheeled Tempest and galloped 
off at a rattling pace. 

Sam watched him for a moment with a crit- 
ical eye then turned and cantered slowly back. 

Meanwhile the troopers, having abandoned 
the chase, had returned to the house without 
their captive, to the joy of the anxious ones 
and the chagrin of the captain. Pepper was 
wrathy in the extreme, and vented his spite 
upon the troopers in no mild terms, resolved to 
take satisfaction out of Henry at such future 
time as might be in his power. 

‘'Sorry to have been obliged to come on 
such unpleasant business, said Captain Har- 
per, bowing to the ladies as he prepared to de- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


57 


part, ‘‘I trust we shall meet under different 
circumstances at some future time.” 

“We take your words in the same kindly 
spirit, in which they are spoken,” said Eloise 
speaking for them both, “and remember that 
a foeman can still be a gentleman.” 

The 3^oung officer flushed as he turned away. 
Such words from so fair an enemy caused his 
heart to flutter in a painful manner. “What 
would they say, at home,” thought he, “if 
they thought of me as courting a Provincial 
damsel? ” 

With many tearful adieus, the party 
marched from the house at a quick trot pur- 
suing the road to Charleston. 


CHAPTER V. 


A FORCIBLE REQUEST. 

A balmy afternoon beneath the skies of Eng- 
land. On every hand stretch wooded slopes, 
gleaming harvests and well kept grounds! 
Farm houses nearly hidden by old ivy or climb- 
ing rose vines dot the landscape here and there. 
In the distance the bright sun glistens on the 
heaving swell of the mighty ocean, as serene 
and calm as if away beyond the gleaming orb, 
where its rays had not yet shone on a nation 
struggling for liberty — dyeing its virgin soil 
with the blood of its children, and groaning 
under the sorrows of famine and hardship. 

Along a well-kept road, across which the 
fresh breeze blew, scented with the breath of 
clover-bloom, rode an old gentleman and his 
son, upon two high-stepping thoroughbreds. 
From the expression upon the elder gentle- 
man’s face, it might safely be inferred that 
the subject at hand was not a pleasant one, 
and the slightly amused look upon the face of 


A Mistaken Identity. 


59 


his yoting companion did not tend to lessen 
the old gentleman’s choier. 

‘‘A beastly fellow, is that Kittredge,” he 
burst forth, spitefully. ‘‘It gives my stomach 
a twinge every time I encounter him.” 

“He get the better of you this time,” re- 
plied the son, “and, I wager, will demand an 
increased price, if you wish to possess the 
acres. Yet, as regards his personality, there 
seems to be no lacK ol friends of his on the 
country-side, and then, you must confess, he 
has a lovely daughter.” 

“Look you ! Percy Taylor cried his parent, 
hotly. “ I ’ll have none of that. Wind of this 
matter has come to me before this, and so, 
please you, I ’ll not have it said that the son of 
Colonel Taylor, of Rockfern, took up with his 
crew ” 

“Ease your mind on that score,” replied the 
young man, “for gossip is premature and idle- 
tongued. Thank Heaven ! I have no woman in 
my head to drive away the wits.” 

“You have been sadly lacking in that same 
quarter or you would have seen that nearer 
home to catch the heart’s fancy,” and the old 


60 


A Mistaken Identity. 


man gave his beast a spiteful tug at the bridle 
that caused him to rear. 

“If you mean Kate Haven, I do not dispute 
the fact of beauty and all feminine lovliness. 
But what a temper ! Give her the head and 
there is no telling where she would land a 
man. Yet I like her. She will make a good 
wife to some kind fellow who will let her hold 
the reins over him.” 

“Don’t be an idiot,” retorted his father, 
hotly; “you are either willfully blind or infer- 
nally perverse. You know my wishes in this 
matter.” 

“And, in this matter,” said Percy, angrily, 
“it is as well your wish is not a command^ 

“Come, my son,” said the colonel, calming 
himself with an effort, “let us not cpiarrel 
over the subject. Besides, this is no time nor 
place to discuss famiH matters.” 

The pair journeyed on in silence, the colonel 
busied with his thoughts, Percy aggravated 
by the discussion of a subject that was any- 
thing but new to him, and always distasteful. 
It had long been a crotchet with the old man 
that his beautiful ward, the daughter of an 
old comrade in armr, and his son should 


A Mistaken Identity. 


61 


marr3^, and, as is apt to be the case with a 
British parent, accustomed to being obe3^ed in 
all things, he had taken the most certain way 
to dissatisfy both parties, concerned with the 
whole affair. 

Left to their own devices nothing could 
have been more natural than that the young 
people should have grown to care for each 
other. Their tastes were similar in many 
things. They loved to ride, fish and hunt to- 
gether. They read the same books, and sang 
duets, in fact were in all things fitted to travel 
this vale of tears together. But the colonel’s 
constant recurrence to the subject, and the 
taking out of their hands altogether an3^ 
chance for those little romances that youth 
loves to enjoy at its own sweet, will, had 
soured them against the idea, so to speak, and 
they had settled down to a sort of mild war- 
fare with each other, which neither felt at 
heart. 

Colonel Taylor, bluff old warrior that he 
was, fretted under this youthful rebellion to 
his will, and would no doubt have lead his 
son before a sort of family court martial had 
such a thing been possible. In fact, at the 


62 


A Mistaken Identity. 


present moment, he was formnlating a little 
plan which bid fair to end, at once and forever, 
the pet scheme he had been cherishing for so 
many years. 

Kate was the first to meet them as the^^ dis- 
mounted at the old manor house, and a glance 
at Percy’s face was sufficient to tell her that 
something had gone wrong. She followed 
him into the drawing room, where the colonel 
left them to themselves, and questioned him : 

‘‘Something amiss, Percy? ” 

“Oh, father has mounted his old hobby 
again to-day. Why, in goodness’ name, can not 
he leave us alone in peace ? ” 

“It’s a wonder ^^oudon’t hate me, roundly,” 
said Kate, with a soft laugh. “It certainly is 
not pleasant to have me thrown in your face 
at all times and seasons.” 

“No worse for me than for yourself, I should 
think.” 

“Well, I don’t mind it so much. You see he 
thinks it will soonest further his ends by press- 
ing you, and so he lets me off with various 
eulogies of your good qualities, in which I 
always acquiesce, and that satisfies him.” 

“Many thanks,” said Percy, sarcastically. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


63 


‘‘I suppose he thinks I have but to ask, to 
have you jump at the chance? ” 

^‘Into your arms, so to speak,” responded 
Kate, ironically. “Who can conceive of the 
prejudices of a parent? Of course his biased 
sight can see no other outcome to such a state 
of affairs.” 

“I heartily wish that something would hap- 
pen to end all this.” 

“Poor fellow, how he does hate his intended. 
Shall I run away with the curate and put it 
out of the question ? ” 

“ Don’t be silly, Kate,” said he, laughing in 
spite of himself. “You know I like you. You 
are a dear little woman, and a friend I would 
not part with for the world. I’ll go to my 
room and doff this dusty toggery and will try 
and forget the governor and all his hobbies.” 

“Do not worry,” said the girl, kindly, laying 
a small hand lightly upon his arm. “Come 
down soon, I have a new duet to try with 
you.” 

The young man did not escape as easily as 
he had anticipated. The colonel had repaired 
to his own room, where reflection and confine- 
ment to hiis own society did not tend to soften 


64 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the bellicose mood, in which the somewhat 
rebellious conduct of his son and heir had 
thrown him. In many things he had been a 
kind and indulgent parent, but accustomed to 
the command of martial forces, and the re- 
membrance that Percy had rarely crossed him 
in anything, led him to believe that it was im- 
possible for him to be disobeyed in a case 
where he could see no reason for rebellion. 

‘‘I have not been firm enough with the 
young Jacka-napes,” he growled. “I’ll put 
tiie question to him flat this very day, and 
have it settled once and for all. Kate has been 
my daughter in thought for many years. She 
shall be so in fact before a new year dawns.” 

It did not occur to the old soldier, that his 
son might have inherited some of his own in- 
domitable stubbornness and refuse, point 
blank, to comply with his wishes. Rockfern 
was a pretty inheritance, and, in return for it, 
he felt that he was entitled to pick for himself 
the woman who should reign over it, as mis- 
tress. He was getting along in years, and 
would see those who were dear to him settled 
in life, before he should be called away into the 
great unknown. Children should play about 


A Mistaken Identity. 


65 


the old grounds and sounds of mirthful laugh- 
ter fill the old halls. He smiled to himself at 
the thought, and tender reeolleetions gathered 
about him as he recalled the youth of his own 
boy, and the future he had planned for him. 

The sound of footsteps roused him from the 
reverie into which he had fallen. Percy was 
returning from his room. In answer to the 
colonel’s summons the young man stepped 
into the room. His father closed the door 
after him and motioned him to a seat. 

wish to speak with you seriously, Percy,” 
he begun “ on a subject very near to my heart. 
You will probably recall to mind the thread of 
our intercourse on the ride to-day, and I trust 
that the answer you then gave me did not 
come from the heart. No, let me finish! ” for 
the young man flushed as if to reply in anger. 
‘‘I wish to lay the matter fully before you, 
and have it settled once and for all.” 

The old man took a chair and seating him- 
self, paused to look at his son. Something in 
the young man’s face gave him his first suspi- 
cion that the interview was likely to resolve 
itself into a battle of wills, and may have 


66 


A Mistaken Identity. 


caused him to begin in a softer tone of voice 
than was customary with him. 

‘‘I think you will admit that through all 
your life, you have no cause to complain of 
your treatment as a son. As fathers go I have 
been to you kind and indulgent. Your horses 
have been of the best ; your allowance all that 
was necessary to have you hold up your end 
with young men of your own class. You have 
traveled whenever it suited your fancy, and 
have had your own way in many things. In 
return for this (you see I will do you justice) 
you have been all that a father could desire. 
Unlike most boys, you have passed through 
the follies of youth comparatively blameless. 
You have never exceeded your allowance, nor 
caused your old father one blush for any of 
your actions, and I am free to say — ” here the 
stalwart old colonel’s voice faltered a little, 
“that I am proud of you. Now in order to 
complete my happiness, I ask of you, what 
any young man in the parish would jump at 
— ask my ward, Kate Haven, to be 3^our 
wife.” 

“Impossible, father !” cr'ed Percy. “I have 
told you — ” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


67 


Never mind what you have told me,” inter- 
rupted the colonel, mildly, though there was 
an ominous contraction of the brows. “We 
will pass over that. I ask you now in all 
kindliness to reconsider, and do as I wish.” 

“It can never be,” answered Percj^ firmly, 
though without the anger customary with 
him heretofore, in discussions of the same kind. 
He saw that his father was fearfully in earnest, 
and it saddened him to be obliged to refuse. 

“ Can you tell me why ? ” 

“We do not love each other. Oh! sir, why 
will you persist in the only thing that has ever 
come between us ? ” 

“How do you know that?” asked the old 
man stolidly, refusing to listen to his son’s ap- 
peal. “You have never asked her.” 

“What need for that? We are like brother 
and sister. It would have seemed a sacrilege 
to have proposed such a thing.” 

“Ask her. Remember that is all I demand.” 

“ It would be an insult to do so.” 

“Will you think this over and give me 3^ our 
answer to-morrow ? ” 

“That would be useless, sir. I must posi- 
tively refuse you in this.” 


68 


A Mistaken Identity. 


The young man spoke sadly, but firmly, and 
there was no doubt but that he was in eatnest. 
His father seemed to realize at last that his 
son was determined. Deep anger was de- 
picted on every feature as he stepped to the 
window and threw his arm in a sweeping ges- 
ture toward the fertile fields and wooded 
paths beneath it. 

‘‘There lies your inheritance,’’ he said in a 
concentrated voice. “From boy to man, you 
have fished in those brooks, hunted in those 
woods. You know their value. Refuse me in 
this and they are lost to you forever. I shall 
leave them to her — to the lady you refuse.” 

“ And I shall refuse to accept them ! ” 

Kate had heard voices raised in dispute, 
and had hurried up stairs, hoping by her 
presence to put a stop to a discussion which 
she could foresee must end in a rupture. She 
had heard the colonel’s last words, and the 
anger in his voice, and it steeled her against 
him to whom she had always been lovable and 
subdued. 

Both men turned at her words, neither less 
ill at ease than the other. 

“What! you, too? cried the old man in a 


Mistaken Identity. 


6^ 


frenzy. ^^This boy lias insulted yon, and I 
take your part. I tell you both that I shall 
disown him for you.’^ 

“And, I repeat, I shall not aceept.’^ 

“Leave us both together, Kate, ’’said Percy, 
sadly. “You can do me no good here.” 

“I shall stay until he retracts what he has 
said. Oh ! sir, he is your son.” 

“My son no more, until he will listen to 
reason !” roared the colonel. “ Remember, sir, 
you quit this house unless 3"OU remain as Kate 
Haven’s suitor. Never look on my face again 
until you are of my mind.” 

“Oh! sir, do you not see, you put me to the 
blush ? ” sobbed Kate. 

“Not a word, young man. I’ll have none of 
your damn’d impertinence,” raged the colonel, 
as Percy was about to speak. “I’ll leave you 
to sleep over it,” and he tore out of the room 
like an infant tempest. 

“Oh! Percy,” cried Kate “what will you do?” 

“‘Needs must, when the devil drives,”’ 
growled he, moodily. “Not that I wish to 
confound my father with that gentleman, but 
I aw in a fix.” 

“What will you do ? ” 


A Mistaken IdEnITtY. 


“ Go away, of course/^ 
“ Ohj Petcy !” 



CHAPTER VI. 


A LITTLE HEROINE. 

On the following day matters were no bet- 
ter. The colonel kept to his room and refused 
to see any one, having his meals served in his 
dressing room, with which he consumed an in- 
ordinate amount of wine, until Andrews, the 
butler, reported in answer to Kate’s queries 
that the old man had brought on a slight at- 
tack of gout, to which he was subject. 

“There’s no use in trying to talk to him in 
his present state of mind,” thought Kate. “I 
don’t see how it can possibly mend matters. 
His gout makes him crosser than a bear. 
What is Mr. Perc3^ doing? ” she asked of Tom, 
the footman, who had just entered, carrying a 
great-coat upon his arm. 

“Beg parding. Miss,” he answered. “Hi 
was just carrying this bit of toggery to Mr. 
Percy which the ’ousemaid she ’as just sewed 

71 


72 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the buttings on, and, if you please. Miss, Mr. 
Perey is of a packin’ hup.”^ 

‘‘ Has he mentioned anything about his de- 
parture?” 

“ ’E says as ’ow ’e is wery hanxious to catch 
the nine-thirty stage for Lunnon, Miss, and 
I ’m to border ’is ’orse at height, sharp. 

“His horse? Why does he not take the 
coach?” 

“ ’E says as ’ow ’e will ’ave me follow with 
the luggage and bring back ’is ’orse from Eps- 
worth tavern. Beg parding. Miss, but ’e his 
of a calling me now, and ’e ’ll be powerful him- 
patient.” 

Here was a pretty state of things. The col- 
onel locked in his room in a towering rage, 
and Percy off for London, and all on account 
of her. Would it not be better for her to 
leave and prevent this rupture between father 
and son. She did not want the fortune. Her 
sense of justice rebelled against the wrong be- 
ing done Percy, whom she loves as a sister, 
and she felt that it put her in a false light be- 
fore him. Would he not feel that it was 
through her that he was losing all, and treas- 
ure it up against her ? She felt that she could 


A Mistaken Identity. 


73 


not bear that, and the poor girl bent her head, 
buried her face in her hands and burst into 
tears. 

Just at this moment Percy entered the room 
and stopped, astonished at this outburst in 
one who usually took the most serious mat- 
ters in a jocular, and almost frivolous manner. 

“Oh! come, now, little woman,” he said, 
nervously, “this isn't at all like you, you 
know. Don't make it harder for me to bear.'' 

“I can't help it, Percy,'' she answered, dry- 
ing her eyes with her handkerchief, and giving 
a great gulp. “We were so happy before, and 
now all will be so lonesome and miserable — 
3^our father will blame you, and you will 
blame me — '' 

“Not for one moment! Kate, dear,” inter- 
rupted Percy, hastily. “This is the result of 
an error into which parents are apt to fall. 
They are accustomed to guide our actions 
from earliest childhood. They select for us our 
to3'S and our books. They choose for us our 
youthful associates, and so arrange our ever^^- 
day affairs that we are but machines to which 
they hold the lever. Is it strange, then, that 
they should imagine they can find us mates at 


74 


A Mistaken Identity. 


will, with whom we are to pass our lives, and 
thus guide our future even when they them- 
selves are no longer upon the seene.’’ 

‘‘But if your father persists in leaving me 
these estates,” she sobbed, angrily, “you will 
despise me. I will not have it.” 

“You can ’t very well refuse if he wills it so,” 
said he, smiling, amused at her loyal grief, 
“and I am certain I should prefer its going to 
you, to having it left to some distant cousin, 
to whom he certainly would leave it if not to 
you.” 

“ Have you cousins ? ” asked Kate. “I did 
not know of any, except some once removed 
in Cornwall.” 

“We have some in the American Colonies. 
A sister of father’s married and left for there 
years ago. I have forgotten their names just 
now, but father has kept track of them I be- 
lieve, although they do not correspond.” 

“They shall not get it, I promise you,” cried 
Kate, with a flash in her eye. “I’ll take it 
myself first and give it back to you.” 

“Oh! hang the estate,” said Percy, impa- 
tiently; “don’t worry about it. Just remem- 
ber that it don’t worry me and that you shall 


A Mistaken Identity. 


75 


always be to me tbe kindest little sister in the 
world.” 

‘ ^ Truly ? ” said she, her eyes shining through 
the tears. 

‘‘Yes, truly,” and, with a sudden impulse, 
he bent quickly and pressed a light kiss upon 
her forehead. 

“Dear old Percy;” she said, blushing under 
the caress ; “ I do believe you, and it makes me 
so much happier, and gives me courage to bear 
the loneliness that I know will follow all this. 
You will write to me?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Good long letters ?” 

“Don’t ask too much. I am not much of a 
correspondent, but I’ll try and satisfy even 
you.” 

“You start to-night, do you not?” 

“Yes, at eight from here, and I meet the 
stage at Epswell at nine-thirty for London. I 
must go and bid the people good-bye, and I 
have some other things to attend to. I ’ll see 
you before I leave.” 

“You have made me feel so much easier,” 
she said, almost gaily, “and somehow I can- 
not help but feel that all Avill come right in the 


76 


A Mistaken Identity. 


end. He loves you too well to carry out his in- 
tenticns.’^ 

‘‘However well he loves me, he loves his 
own way better; but I will try and hope with 
you.^’ 

Percy took leave of the help, whom he had 
known almost from childhood, and many of 
them were moved to tears, for he had been a 
favorite with them all. Promptly at eight, he 
bade Kate a cordial adieu and mounted his 
horse, while Tom bundled his luggage into the 
vehicle and followed after him up the road. 
Kate listened at the door until the sound of 
his horse’s hoofs were lost in the distance, then 
retired to her room to have a quiet cry. 

After his son’s departure, the colonel 
emerged from his seclusion and resumed his 
former habits. His gout troubled him some- 
what and made him unusually testy. This 
soon disappeared, however, and he was ex- 
ceptionally kind to Kate, showing no traces 
of his former anger; but he never referred to his 
absent son. Once Kate made an attempt to 
start a conversation upon the matter, but the 
old man interrupted her shortly, and gave or- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


77 


ders that Percy was never to be mentioned in 
his hearing. 

She received short letters periodically from 
the absent one, to which she never failed to 
repl3^ at once, striving, in her woman^s way, 
to comfort him with ready pleasantries, that 
were calculated to amuse him and keep him 
from brooding over the troublesome events 
through which he had passed. The fact of 
this correspondence was never mentioned by 
her to her guardian, nor did he seem in the 
least anxious to learn of hisson^s whereabouts 
or any particulars concerning him. 

A little over three weeks from the time of 
his departure, the post brought her a letter 
from him, which, from its address, appeared to 
have been penned in great haste. Kate broke 
the seal and read : 

Hull’s Inn, Caldwell Road, London. 

Dear Kate: — I write this hurried epistle to let you 
know that I have conceived a sudden determination to 
leave England in company with an old college friend, who 
sails for the American Colonies. He is one of the officers 
that are to depart with the reinforcements about to be sent 
to the recruiting of the army in the colonies, and has kindly" 
extended to me an invitation to accompany him. This will 
give me an active life, not devoid of adventure, in which, I 
am told, that country abounds, and I avail myself of the 
opportunity. We sail the day after to-morrow, so, you see, 


78 


A Mistaken Identity. 


I have little time for preparation. I will write you directly 
upon my arrival, telling you where to address me. Don’t 
worry about me, and don’t let them worry you. Kind re- 
gards to all, and blessings upon you for your kindness to 

Yours sincerely, Percy. 

With determined step and anxious look, 
Kate took this letter directly to the colonel, 
who was seated in his study looking dreamily 
out of the window. He turned as she entered, 
and was startled at the expression upon her 
face. He glanced at the open letter in her 
hand, and his face paled a little though his 
voice was steady as he spoke : 

What is it, Kate, dear ? 

Kate choked for a moment as she tried to 
speak and her voice failed her. She placed 
Percy ^s letter in his hand and watched his face 
as he read it. A relieved expression came to 
his eyes as he read the few lines. He had 
evidently feared something worse from his 
ward’s anxious bearing, and a return of the 
old angry light came back to his eyes, as he 
handed it back to her without comment. 

^‘Have you nothing to say, sir?” she asked, 
firing up at his indifference. ^‘He is leav- 
ing England to encounter dangers, — perhaps 
death.” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


79 


has deserted his intended bride,” 
answered the old man, coldly. “ He has left his 
home; he has left his old father. What more 
fitting than he should desert his country, as 
well ? ’ ^ 

^‘He has not deserted his intended bride, for 
that I should neverhave been even had he asked 
me,” cried Kate, who was becoming violently 
angered over her guardian’s stulibornness. 
‘‘As for his leaving his home, it is you who 
have driven him to it. You know that one 
word from you will call him back. There is 
yet time. Tom can catch the stage with a 
letter which he will receive before the vessel 
leaves.” 

“A word which I shall never utter!” said the 
stolid old colonel, rising in his anger and send- 
ing his hand with a crush down upon the table 
at his side. ‘‘He has made his bed, now let 
him lie upon it, and he may go to the devil for 
all me — by God ! ” 

“You have forgotton yourself, sir,” said 
Kate, drawing herself up proudl}^, to her fullest 
height, and looking the old warrior square in 
the eye. “No gentleman should so far forget 
himself as to be profane in a lady’s presence. 


80 


A Mistaken Identity. 


You refuse to recall your son. You have driven 
him from you, and you are so little master of 
yourself as to let 3^our pride blind you. He is 
going, perhaps to his death with no hand to 
stay him. Well, if a father’s hand cannot 
bring him back, to say the word, then mine 
shall! 

‘‘What do you mean? Ah! you have be- 
trayed yourself!” said he, excitedly, and almost 
trembling in his eagerness. “ Fou love him in 
spite of yourseW^ 

“You are mistaken. He is the dear play- 
fellow with whom I have passed my child- 
hood ; the dear boy that has been to me more 
than most brothers, and this true friendship 
you see is a tie even thicker than the ties of 
blood. You have repudiated him — you, his 
father, but I — I shall bring him back.” 

“I think you will find my son’s pride as great 
as my own,” said the colonel, mockingl3^ “He 
will scarcely heed a letter from you in this 
case.” 

“Do you not suppose I know that?” said the 
now fearless girl. “But I will goto London 
myself, and see him ere he leaves. I will drag 
him back. He shall not leave us.” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


81 


‘‘Are you aware, you foolish girl, that you 
are setting yourself in opposition to my will? 
I command 3^ou to stay ! ” 

“And I refuse! 

The old man stepped to the bell rope and 
pulled it vigorously. It was answered in a 
moment by Tom, the footman. 

“You are to carry the mail-bag to-night to 
Epswell, are you not? asked the colonel. 

“Yes, sir, hever^- Tuesdays and Fridays. 

“You will hold it this time until Friday.” 

“But, sir,” began Tom astonished at the 
order, “you said sir has ’ow — ” 

“Never mind what I said!” thundered the 
irate man. “You need not drive to Epswell 
to-night. That will do.” 

Tom disappeared through the door as 
though he had been shot from a cannon, and 
Kate, seeing how useless any amount of ex- 
postulation would be, in the colonel ’s present 
mood, left him and flew to her own room to 
think matters over. 

The next morning Kate did not appear at 
the breakfast table, and the colonel felt that 
she was hurt over his outburst of ill-temper the 
previous day, and sent to her room with a re- 


82 


A Mistaken Identity. 


quest that she join him at breakfast, accom- 
panied with a kind word asking after her 
health. The housemaid brought back word 
that she was not in her room and brought him 
a sealed letter, which she had found on the 
young lady’s dresser. 

He tore it open with trembling fingers. It 
was short and to the point : 

Colonel Taylor : 

I have kept my word. I have left to join Percy before 
he departs. Tom drove me to Epswell. Pray do not blame 
him as I coaxed him and the fault is mine. When you will 
take us both back, as before, write to Hull’s Inn, Caldwell 
Road. Tenie, my maid, is with me. 

Kate. 

With a low moan the old man sank upon 
the table his head buried in his arms. 

“Alone,” he muttered. “All alone in this 
great house. All that I have loved are gone. 
They think to break my will !” he said fiercely 
rising to his feet, “but they shall not! They 
shall return only as man and wife. Who 
knows,” with a cunning chuckle, “but what it 
is best as it is. They love each other and do 
not know it. Before long they will find it out 
and come to me hand in hand, blessing me 
and asking blessing of mine. I ’ll wait. I bide 
my time. These old halls shall yet echo to the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


83 


sound of cliildisli laughter, and gathered about 
the old hearth I shall see ehildish forms, whose 
youthful faees will refleet the likenesses of 
Kate and Percy.” 


CHAPTER YII. 


FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 

Kate in the meantime had journeyed to Lon- 
don, only to find that she was too late, and 
that Percy had taken all his luggage away the 
night before and was probably several miles 
out at sea, while she sat at the table in 
her strange little room at the inn, and Tenie 
poured the savory cup of coffee for her. She 
had been fearfully disappointed by not being in 
time to intercept the young man, and, woman- 
like, had spared time to have a good long cry 
before her breakfast was brought in, and now, 
as she sat down to the light repast, her sweet 
face looked as fresh after the storm of tears as 
an April day after a thunder shower. 

donT know what we shall do now, 
Tenie,’^ she said in a lugubrious tone. ‘‘We 
have run away from home and have not suc- 
ceeded in our undertaking. I don’t see how I 
can go back, for guardian must be in a fearful 

84 > 


A Mistaken Identity. 


85 


state, and I think I may have said naughty 
things to him in the note I left, I was in such a 
hurry.’’ 

“Et is so Yar simple, m’selle,” answered 
Tenie, with a smile that showed a row of teeth 
like pearls, “ef it is no possible to go back, 
why no go forward?” and the pretty little 
head made a comprehensive gesture toward 
the open window that looked out toward the 
sea. 

Ah, yes, but how? ” objected Kate, yet half 
convinced. ‘‘ We could not go to that strange 
country alone. Such an idea would be ter- 
rible.” 

“Something sure to turn up, m’selle,” said 
the maid from where she stood looking out of 
the window. “Ah! Now my lady will be no 
more lonesome, for here come one two friend. 
See, m’selle. Monsieur le Captain Strong, and 
his so j oily wife. ” 

Kate sprangto the window at once and was 
delighted to find that Tenie had not been mis- 
taken. The captain and his wife were coming 
up the short gravel walk, while a footman and 
stable boy busied themselves with numberless 
pieces of luggage, which they were taking from 


86 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the coach which had brought the pair. Kate 
tapped at the window, and succeeded in catch- 
ing the e3^e of the captain’s wife, who smiled 
back and nodded her head in such an impress- 
ive fashion, that it threatened to bob off at 
every step. 

While the captain was busied with other ar- 
rangements down stairs, Mrs. Strong lost no 
time in hunting up Kate’s room, and pro- 
ceeded to greet that young lady with a volu- 
bility only exceeded by the warmth of the 
kisses she bestowed upon the sweet young 
face, while Kate, on her part, was as profuse 
in her greetings, and clung to her almost as 
the fabled shipwrecked sailor is said to cling 
to the straw that floats by him. She felt how 
utterly alone she was, and also that this good 
sensible friend might give her good advice in 
the matter. 

“My c/ear young lady,” began Mrs. Strong, 
“ so delighted to see you. What are you do- 
ing down here, and how is the colonel? No, 
don’t try to answer. I have a bad habit of 
running on and asking all my questions in a 
bunch. Dear, dear, but I am glad to see you. 
I expected to see no one but strangers in this 


A Mistaken Identity. 


87 


stuffy little inn. Where is the colonel, your 
guardian? 

‘‘He is at home — at least he was when I 
left there night before last,” answered Kate, a 
shadow crossing her face. “Don’t speak of 
him, dear friend, for we have quarreled.” 

“ My goodness, love, you do n’t say so ! ” ex- 
claimed the lively lady, raising her eyebrows 
in a manner indicative of surprise and deep in- 
terest. “ Is there a young man in the case, eh, 
young lady? You haven’t run away with a 
young man, have you?” And although the 
voice might have seemed severe, there was a 
little sparkle of excitement in the bright black 
eyes of the questioner, that showed how well 
she could enjoy a little romance of the sort, 
providing there was no real harm in it. 

“Oh, no! How could you think me so 
foolish ? We just quarreled over Percy, 
and — ” 

“Ah!” ejaculated her listener, filling up the 
pause, “tAat was the young man, was it? 
Now, when is it to be ? ” 

“You don’t understand,” said Kate, in de- 
spair, and she flung an arm about the neck of 


§8 


A Mistaken IdentitIiT. 


her friend and found relief in a slight flood of 
tears. 

Now, if there was one thing more than an- 
other that would win the undying allegiance 
of Mrs. Captain Strong, it was tears. Espec- 
ially the tears falling from the eyes of a pretty 
young lady. She was strong in her likes and 
dislikes, and never could stand homely people. 
For that very reason the pretty ones of her 
acquaintance came in for the full share of her 
affection. No sooner, therefore, had Kate 
flung herself, so to speak, upon her, all bathed 
in dewy tears than she resolved to make her 
cause her very own, no matter what it might 
be, and assist her in every manner that .was 
within her power. 

‘‘Now, sweet Kate,’’ she said, kissing one 
wet cheek, “just you sit down here and tell me 
the whole story, for I must confess that I am 
all at sea as to your trouble.” 

So they sat down, clasped in each other’s 
arms, while Kate poured her whole sad tale 
into the willing ears. When it was finished 
the champion looked first fierce, then thought- 
ful. She stigmatized Col. Tayor as a mean 
and horrid man, praised Percy in the highest 


A Mistaken Identity. 


89 


terms, and then wondered what was to, be 
done. There was a little roguish twinkle to 
her eye as she aectised Kate of being in love 
with the young man, but that young lady 
was so emphatie in her denial that Mrs. 
Strong was forced to believe her, although she 
still retained a subtle belief that the end of the 
whole affair would be the ultimate wedding of 
Kate and Percy. 

.“Now, dear,” she said, at last, “we are two 
women who are not exactly decided what to 
do, except that you can ’t go back to your 
guardian, at least at present, and the best will 
be to have a man taken into our counsels. I ’ll 
call the captain and see what he says about 
it,” which she did, without more ado, fronr 
the head of the stairs, and interrupted him in 
a pleasant little quarrel with the landlord in 
regard to accommodations. He no sooner 
heard his wife’s call than he adjourned the lit- 
tle piece of pleasantry until some future time, 
and mounted the stairs, appearing in the 
doorway like a sunbeam, if sunbeams ever 
wear short, fierce-looking mutton-chops, and 
red jackets. 

The matter was laid before him at once, but 


90 


A Mistaken Identity. 


didn’t seem to puzzle him half as much as it 
had his fair helpmeet and her young friend. 

‘^Simple, my dears,” he said, with a radiant 
smile and hearty laugh. ^‘Simple as A B C. 
My dear friend Percy has gone to the colonies 
— left by the Vulcan — very simple, you see, for I 
go by the Thunderer that leaves to-morrow. 
We ’ll meet in the other land. My wife goes 
with me — couldn’t think of staying away from 
her Harry — plenty of room in the ship — wife’s 
jolly company — what do you think? ” 

And truly what could she think. Here was 
the very chance she could have wished for, and 
the solution to the difficulty. Kate, whose 
teg-rs were dried by this time, flung her arms 
about his neck and gave him a hearty kiss in 
thankfulness. 

‘^Take care there, Katie — wife’s abnormally 
jealous — ^better be careful,” and the joke was 
followed by a hearty laugh, in which they all 
joined. 

So the question was settled and Kate’s 
effects were packed that night, and the very 
next day the party boarded the Thunderer. 
While the tide went out, the little group on the 
deck looked their last on Merry England,” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


91 


and the huge sails above them swelled in the 
freshening breeze, looking like the wings to 
some giant bird that was bearing them over 
the bosom of the broad Atlantic toward that 
infant country, whose people were even then 
bleeding with the oppression of the parent 
power over the water. 

Meantime things were gloomy at Rockfern. 
The days wore into weeks, and the weeks 
lengthened into months, and still the old 
colonel received no news from the absent 
ones. Kate had been so incensed against him 
that she had not even advised him of her 
departure for the colonies, though word did 
come to him that his son had departed for the 
scene of hostilities. As the days wore on he 
became more and more gloomy, confined him- 
self in his room for days together, during which 
times he amused himself with such inordinate 
excesses in the way of rich pastry and wines 
that his malady grew worse. 

His temper appeared to grow worse more 
^speedily than his physical infirmities, and 
finally, in an excess of passion he sent for his 
solicitor and told him that he wished to make 
his will. Previous to this he had tumbled over 


92 


A Mistaken Identity. 


all his old correspondence, and laid aside cer- 
tain old letters with colonial postmarks. He 
was evidently hunting up all he could learn 
about his sisters^s family, for he read these 
over carefully before his solieitor arrived. Then 
the will was drawn up, an instrument which 
left the bulk of everything he possessed to the 
eldest son of his sister. In vain did the man of 
law remonstrate with him. He was deter- 
mined, and the only thing that remained was 
to portion out the smaller legaeies to the help, 
some of whom had been with the family almost 
since their birth. 

Then matters grew from bad to worse, the 
colonel’s temper became unbearable, and the 
household was in a constant turmoil in conse- 
quence. So here we leave him, a victim to his 
own pride and passions, growing weaker and 
weaker, nearing the grave, with no tender 
hand or loving voice to make his last moments 
sweet to him, and take our flight, like the Vul- 
can and Thunderer, across the broad Atlantic, 
to the shores of the rebellious colonies. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A PRIVATE PRISONER. 

In Spite of the promises made by Walter to 
effect a rescue on behalf of Henry on the road 
to Charleston, the cortege moved on with 
little to interrupt the journey except the 
natural roughness of the road which was in a 
primitive state in places, especially when it 
went across small strips of swamp, over 
which la3^er upon layer of brush and small 
saplings had been heaped for a foundation, and 
a rather rough commingling of stone and 
earth thrown over them for a surface. 

The party met the stragglers who had gone 
in search of Walter after his hasty flight, and 
one by one they joined the troop, each having 
little to communicate as to his whereabouts, 
to which Teddy, the trooper who had been so 
roughly handled by the young man in ques- 
tion, remarked that ‘‘the divil had gone away 
wid his own, for a divil for strength he was 


94 


A Mistaken Identity. 


entoirely. An’ a moighty polite divil, too,” 
he added in explanation, ^‘for sure he picks out 
the softest spots upon which to dump a boy.” 

Arrived at Charleston the next question 
arose as to how the prisoner should be dis- 
posed of, and unluckily for him. Captain Har- 
per received orders to report at once at head- 
quarters, leaving the young man temporarily 
in charge of Ralph Pepper, who hailed the new 
state of things with evident delight. Capt. 
Harper had intended to take his young pris- 
oner under his own especial care, to see that he 
suffered no inconvenience, and the fact that he 
did not arrange the matter before he left the 
troop, must be attributed to the fact that he 
expected to return soon. 

Pepper no sooner had charge himself than he 
ordered the detachment forward, and they set 
off at a brisk pace to another part of the town 
with which Pepper seemed particularly famil- 
iar. So much so that it almost appeared as if 
the whole affair was the outcome of his fertile 
brain. In fact such was the case. He had 
hung about the Fuller plantation until he had 
caught a glimpse of the little family party, on 
that eventful evening when his wicked face had 


A Mistaken Identity. 


95 


appeared for an instant at the window, and 
had overheard the conversation relative to the 
expected visit of the young men. 

Then he had galloped off in the night and 
prepared for the reception of his intended pris- 
oner. His chagrin can be imagined when he 
made the anticipated capture, to find that he 
was too late to prevent the match that he had 
dreaded, and that now all that he could look 
for was a revenge that would satisfy his per- 
sonal spite. The prison to which he was tak- 
ing the young man was an old solidly built 
house in a quiet part of the town, partially 
surrounded by a thick growth of trees that 
hid two sides of the brick wall, the whole en- 
circled by one of those high, old-fashioned gar- 
den walls which made the prison effect, all the 
more realistic. 

Henry had kept silent during most of the 
trip, busy with his thoughts and studying 
vaguely about plans for the future. Now, how- 
ever he gazed at the dark looking building and, 
as the party halted at the gate, ventured a re- 
mark : 

'‘Well, Pepper, is this one of his Majesty’s 
fortresses, or a private prison of your own?” 


96 


A Mistaken Identity. 


“A private jail of his Majesty,’^ growled the 
Tory with a dark scowl that made his features 
look all the more forbidding. ^‘One that I 
trust will please you, for you are likely to 
have a long acquaintance with it. We will 
show you how we deal with rebels.’^ 

“In return for which,” replied Carter, “I 
will remember to show you how we treat our 
country’s traitors, when matters assume a 
different aspect.” 

Pepper made no reply other than an oath, 
and striding to the gate, struck a few heavy 
blows upon it with the hilt of his sword. In 
response to the echoing noise, a window in the 
upper story of the house was thrown open, 
and a face peered out for an instant, after 
which the window was slammed down, and 
footsteps were heard approaching hurriedl3^ 
There was a sound as of heavy bolts being 
withdrawn and the door swung open, show- 
ing a fierce looking old man, whose most prom- 
inent points were his one remaining front 
Upper tooth and a prominent nose, both of 
which appeared equally disagreeable. 

“What have we now, friend Pepper?” asked 
the old man, with a leer. “The eagle for the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


97 


cage? When the dove comes not we chain 
th^ eagle, do we? Ha! ha! a handsome bird 
for a strong home.’’ 

“Be quiet, old fool,” growled Pepper, “and 
let us in with our prisoner.” 

The door was swung open wider, and two 
of the troop dismounted, helping Carter to 
alight. As they drew near the doorway, he 
turned to give one last look at the winding 
road, the rustling trees, the blue sky with its 
fleecy clouds, perhaps the last he might give in 
life; for how could he guess what the dark 
walls behind which he was being taken might 
have in store for him. One last glance he gave 
at the blue vault above. Perhaps even now 
Ruth’s eyes were raised to the same spot in 
prayer for his safety. Dear Ruth, his bride. 
How could they both bear it? The thought 
brought forth a sigh that was almost a sob, 
which shook his frame for an instant. 

“Oh, you feel it, do you?” said Pepper, his 
face lighting up in an ecstacy of vengeful feel- 
ing. “I promise you that you will feel it more 
as the weeks go by. Move on there, men. We 
can’t wait here until sunset, listening to sen- 
timent.” 


98 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Don’t imagine that I shall give you the 
benefit of seeing that I suffer,” said Henry. “I 
promise you that hereafter no such satisfaction 
will be given you.” 

His captor made no reply, but led the way 
through the low doorway, into the house, 
which showed few signs of comfort. Bare 
halls with bare floors was all that was visible. 
Up the flight of stairs a doorway stood par- 
tially open, and a glow came from the inte- 
rior, showing just a glimpse of cosy furnish- 
ings, and pictures on the walls. A faint per- 
fume seemed to come from the room, and the 
hum of a soft female voice came to them just 
for an instant as they passed. Henry won- 
dered if the person in the room was a prisoner 
also, in the power of these men. Perhaps the 
poor thing was demented, else why should she 
sing in such a place ? He glanced at the faces 
of the captor and jailor, but could read no 
solution there. The future would have to 
bring its own revelation. For the present his 
own concerns troubled him too greatly to 
leave much time to thoughts of others. 

The room prepared for his reception was at 
the rear portion of the structure, takinginhalf 


A Mistaken Identity. 


99 


the second floor of a wing that had been built 
out toward the street. There were two win- 
dows fronting on the road, with heavy blinds 
on the outside, the inner frame having been 
recently barred with heavy straps of wrought 
iron. The slats to the blinds had been left 
turned, letting in a faint light that showed a 
bare floor, bare walls, an old post bedstead 
in one corner, covered with dark colored blank- 
ets, and a rough table against the wall. In 
another corner a stool lay tumbled over on 
the floor near it, the whole having so cheerless 
an aspect, that it struck a chill to the heart oi 
the young soldier, used to rough fare, as he was. 

A heavy door of rough hewn planks had been 
fitted into the door frame, in the center of 
which was a small square opening covered by 
a slide. The prisoner was particular to observe 
all the details thus minutely, in order that he 
might use his knowledge in an effort to escape; 
for no matter how dark or deep the dungeon, 
the hope of breaking into the freedom of the 
outer world never utterly forsakes the breast 
of a human being in confinement. | 

Henry was pushed into the room, the door 
was banged to after him, and the dark face of 


100 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Pepper at the opening peered in to bid him an 
adieu. 

‘‘Hope you’ll be pleased with your new 
home,” he sneered. “You are safer here than 
with your troop, and then it will give me so 
much better an opportunity to persuade your 
sweet bride that* you have departed this life. 
Perhaps she will learn to console herself with 
your humble servant.” 

He closed the slide just in time to escape a 
leg of the stool, which the tormented one 
hurled with all his force at the opening. Pep- 
per laughed a hoarse laugh and turned away, 
stopping for a few moments to give instruc- 
tions to the jailor before he left, and then the 
clank of his long sword was heard as he hurried 
down the stairs to rejoin the party in waiting 
in the road. 

Henry waited until he heard the slam of the 
door in the wall, and watched the party as it 
passed the grated window, then he turned 
with a heavy sigh and flung himself upon the 
bed, burying his face in his hands, while the 
distant clattering of the hoofs upon the road 
grew fainter and fainter as the troop disap- 
peared in the distance. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE jailor’s daughter. 

There is no misery so great to an active 
mind, as that which follows close confinement 
such as that to which Henry found himself 
subjected. His life had always been as free as 
the air. Passed in the wide school of nature, 
in the deep forests hy day, and under the star- 
lit skies by night, or chasing the wild game by 
moon light, over the boundless spread of vir- 
gin country. To him the confinement was 
most wearing, more terrible than to one who 
had passed his daj^s in the closer confines of 
a city, or in the circles of a court. All these 
truths should be taken into consideration, in 
order to thoroughly account for the events 
that followed upon his capture, and which 
must be told although they do not go far to- 
ward elevating the young captive in the minds 
of the followers of his fortunes. 

He was deeply and tenderly attached to 
101 


102 


A Mistaken IdentitV. 


Rutli, his sweet bride, and was certain in his 
own heart, that the stars above could not out- 
vie, him in truth and constancy. He suffered 
all the more for her dear sake, for how could 
he know that she was not being persecuted on 
his very account. If anyone should have told 
him that he would be false to his love, even in 
thought, he would have scouted the idea from 
its very baseness. Yet he was a man, a fact 
that must not be forgotten, and where is the 
man that is wholly and absolutely true? 
They are only so by comparison. The best of 
his species is but powder, some slow, some 
quick. Woman is the flint, her eyes the steel, 
her kiss the spark, and then, oh ! farewell vir- 
tue, farewell pride, adieu to constancy. 

But why anticipate and grow garrulous 
over the inevitable? The tale unfolds itself 
soon enough, and in its own way. Henry was 
left comfortably to himself, until the shadows 
of evening began to throw his prison into a 
deep gloom, when the slide was opened and 
his jailor appeared at the opening. Henry 
glanced at the hard old face, and after a care- 
ful scrutiny began to believe that there was 


A Mistaken Identity. 


103 


little help to be obtained from that quarter, 
although he resolved to make the effort. 

^‘Good evening, friend,’^ he said, rising 
briskly from the stool, and advaneing toward 
the door. 

^‘Now you see here,^^ said the faee, while the 
slide was half elosed, with a jerk. “None o’ 
your tricks. I know you are a hard one, but 
it won’t do no good to smash old Dan Giles, 
cause then you see, where would 3^our food 
come from, I’d like to know, and your at- 
tendance?” 

“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Giles,” said 
Henry, forcing a laugh, which he in vain tried 
to make mirthful. “I don’t intend to be at 
daggers drawn with you; it’s the old Nick 
himself that I am after. Come now, let us be 
friends. After all, money is the great thing. 
Money above all. What will you take to let 
me out of this infernal hole?” 

“Can’t be done, possibly,” answered Giles, 
shaking his head till his one solitary tooth 
seemed to rattle. “I do pretty well in that 
line with Pepper, and I dare not cross him. 
Oh! I don’t bear you no ill-will, only I must 
do as he sn3^s, that’s all.” , 


104 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Name a piije,ii a , can’t you?” said Henry, 
desperately. “I can afford to pay i^ou well.” 

Price or no price, is no manner of difference, 
captain. Here is some supper for i^ou, and a 
jug of water. Sorry the fare isn’t better, but 
it’s the same as I have.” 

He passed through the door a small jug of 
water, and a tin plate containing a heap of 
beans, a small chunk of pork, topped off with 
a huge slice of dark bread. These the prisoner 
took and placed on the little table, not be- 
cause he wanted them, but because he did not 
wish to offend the old man by a refusal. He 
began to see that there was little hope for him, 
in winning the old man; 3^et he did not wholly 
despair, for something might turn up at the 
last minute to aid him in an escape. Perhaps 
Captain Harper might see fit to insist on tak- 
ing charge of him, and he would be removed. 

‘‘Do you intend to allow me a candle?” he 
asked, as the man was about to leave. 

“Can’t be done. Pepper says you might 
burn the place down if you are given fire. I 
rather think you’ll have to stay in the dark.” 

“Well, old man, as you please. You are 
rather rough, but I suppose you think you are 


A Mistaken Identity. 


105 


just. Good-niglit to you, however, and no ill- 

The jailor turned away muttering to him- 
self, but in his heart feeling as kindly toward 
his prisoner as his hardened old heart was 
capable of being toward his fellow man. 

Day after day passed by and brought little 
change to the confined man. There was a 
plate of vilely indifferent food, poked in through 
the door, accompanied by the small jug of 
water twice a day, sometimes by the old man 
Giles, and often by Uri, a huge, powerful, 
angular roustabout, whose other name nobody 
knew, nor cared for. He had been a satellite 
of Pepper’s for years, and was as faithful to 
him as the starved dog to his master; a faith- 
fulness that knew no restraint until another 
passion had taken possession of him, one that 
he hardly understood, but which was nothing 
more nor less than a savage form of love, but 
of that more anon. 

Henry pined for freedom, pined for societt^, 
for his friends and loved ones, and finally ar- 
rived at such trivial matters as to pine for a 
good clean wash for his face and hands. To 
be sure he could pour a few drops of his drink- 


106 


A Mistaken Identity. 


ing water from the jug, and wet his face with 
it, but he was obliged to let it dry as it would, 
for want of a towel. Then an event occurred 
which changed the tenor of his whole impris- 
onment. One morning he heard the slide open 
at the usual hour, and turned to take the food 
supply from the hands of his jailor, when he 
started and fairly gasped. In place of his 
usual captors, there was the dark face of a 
most lovely girl, that lookd at him with won- 
der, and finally turned rosy red to the very 
neck, at his apparently interested glance. 

The face, 'as far as he could see, was of a 
beautiful creole type, with a wreath of dark 
wavy hair above a low forehead; the brows 
heavy but finely pencilled, outlining eyes that 
were large, dark and full of a slumbering fire ; 
eyes of that peculiar deep hazel shade that 
is so hard either to describe or resist. The lips, 
even in that quick glance, he could see were red 
and moist ; the cheeks full, and tinted with the 
flush of health, the crown of beauty; in short, 
a young, passionate bud of womanhood, wait- 
ing for the sun of love to unfold it into the full 
ripe blossom. Could one blame him that a 
little interest was awakened in his mind ; that 


A Mistaken Identity?. 


10? 


there was an inviting animation in his face as 
he stepped to the opening and took the plate 
from her hands. 

Thanks, maiden,’^ said Henry looking at 
her in continued surprise, “but pray tell me if 
it be not too bold a request, how came you 
here ? Beauty in a habitation like this is out 
of place. 

“ ^Tis where I should be, sir. I am Jessaline, 
the daughter of your jailor, and she blushed 
as she said it, probably from the young man’s 
compliment. “I did not know that a young 
man had been brought here. I thought the 
rebels were all old and ugly.” 

“Not all so, fair one, nor many as plain as I. 
There are-many who could teach you love, and 
give you kiss for kiss and be well worthy even 
your dark beauty.” 

“ Fie ! fie ! sir prisoner,” answered she, laugh- 
ing softly, well pleased at his flattery. “Let 
me see that you eat your meal, or I shall say 
that you ill appreciate me. Yet stay, it is a 
poor fare to offer you,” and before he could re- 
monstrate she had bounded away, leaving a 
subtle odor behind her. She returned soon, 
however, with a small cup of jelly, the leg of a 


A Mistaken Identity. 


lOS 

fowl, and a piece of delicate cake which she 
handed him. ‘‘The fare is too poor for a gen- 
tleman,” she said in explanation. “Now let 
me see you eat.” 

Henry needed no second invitation. The del- 
icacies tempted him, and he leaned close to the 
opening and enjoyed the treat, the eyes of the 
lady following his every movement with evi- 
dent delight. She studied his face, noticed his 
fine proportions, and almost unconsciously 
strange thoughts went whirling through her 
head, fancies that made her pant as she read 
them to herself. Poor girl. She had been 
brought up almost alone, and at eighteen had 
seen little of books or society, and the child ot 
nature was beginning to meet her first passion. 
One only in its infancy as yet, but likely to do 
her irreparable ill. 

For his part Henry was delighted. Here 
was a moment ^s respite from the gloom of the 
prison life he had been passing, and it eased his 
mind so happily, that he almost laughed, such 
a relief did he feel. 

“Nowtell me, sweet one,” he said, “how did 
this task fall to you on this day? How came 
they to let you see after their surly prisoner? ” 


Mistaken Identity. 


109 


‘‘Father has been called away for a time, 
and I told Uri that I would see to you to-day 
as I wanted him to go into town for me. Uri 
will do anj^thing for me, even more than for 
father or the other; so he is in town, and I am 
here to see to you.’’ 

“And whom do you mean by the other? ” 

“Why, Pepper.” 

“ And what is Pepper to you ? Are you his 
sweetheart? ” 

“ Oh ! no — no — I hate him, and I have no one 
I call sweetheart.” 

“So you love no one? ” said Henry handing 
her the cup which he had emptied of its con- 
tents, “and are so beautiful.” 

She took the proffered vessel from him, and 
as she did so their hands touched, perhaps ac- 
cidentally, perhaps by a desire on her part 
to touch him. As she did so a thrill seemed to 
pass over her by some unforeseen agency. Her 
fingers closed over his for an instant, her eyes 
seemed to swim and her handsome face and 
moist lips were dangerously near the opening, 
then with a sudden bound she sped away, for- 
getting to close the aperture as she left. 

She was startled at this new feeling, that had 


110 


A Mistaken Identity. 


come over her, and which as yet, she could not 
fathom. She felt drawn towards this man, as 
none other had ever drawn her before. She 
blushed hotly, and a tremor seized her as she 
realized how near she had come to allowing 
their lips to meet. She felt almost sorry now 
that she had not followed up the inelination. 
How would it have effected her ? If the bare 
touch of his lips to her hand, had filled her 
with such a new andsubtilefeeling, how would 
the pressure of his lips to hers have seemed to 
her? She thrilled as she closed her eyes, and al- 
lowed her imagination to run riot — and she 
was lost to herself. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE RULING PASSION. 

The advent of his jailor’s daughter brought 
quite a change to the daily existence of the 
prisoner. So different was the day passed, 
that it was little wonder that he should begin 
to speculate as to whether the maiden or Uri 
was to bring him the necessities of life at the 
stated intervals, for the dark beauty either 
could not come at all times, or else was sensi- 
ble enough to know that she would be better 
thought of should she appear to him less fre- 
quently, although it was a self-denial r n her 
part. She was of a fierce disposition, strongly 
moved either to ill or good, as the case might 
be. She was wakeful during the nights, toss- 
ing uneasily on her couch, and thinking inces- 
santly of the handsome young stranger, who 
lay in prison so near to her own room. 

Nor was Henry unconscious of the effect he 
was producing upon the young and suscepti- 


112 A Mistaken Identity. 

ble heart. At first he rather resented her soft 
glances, thinking only of Ruth, but gradually 
he began to see what an advantage the state 
of things might bring to him, and he began to 
encourage her a little, in return for which he 
received many little favors. At one time he 
begged that he might have a tin basin and a 
quantity of water, for he felt sadly in need of a 
good wash, since he had been compelled to 
content himself with a few drops each day 
poured from his jug. She flew at once to get 
it for him, and returned with a large vessel, a 
basin, some soap, and a rough towel. The 
latter articles she succeeded in passing through, 
but the vessel containing the water was too 
large and could not go through the opening. 

‘^Oh! how vexatious,” she exclaimed, with 
a pretty pout. What shall we do ?” 

‘‘This need trouble us little,” said Henry. 
“See, I hold the basin here, while you pour it 
full.” 

“Oh! to be sure— how simple— hold it close, 
please, for this is heavy, and I cannot hold it 
long.” 

She lifted the heavy vessel, which seemed too 
great for her slight wrists, and Henry passed 


A Mistaken Identity. 


113 


one hand through, closing his fingers about 
her arm, to assist. As she felt the pressure she 
trembled violently and her hand shook, while 
a wave of color passed over brow and neck, 
then with a sudden impulse ere she lowered 
the jug, she curved her handsome neck and 
her warm lips touched his hand. Henry was 
but human, and some of her own passion 
seemed to flow into his veins at the tcu:h, and 
a new and strange light came to his eyes, for 
the ruling passion had begun to take posses- 
sion of him. 

‘^Take care, Jessaline,’^ he said, am but a 
prisoner, yet prisoners feel. Ah! all too 
deeply, sometimes.’^ 

“I care naught,’^ said the maid, clinging 
close to the opening, and panting strangely. 
‘‘Think you not that captors may also feel — 
Henry 

“Think not of me but cast your thoughts 
on others. Now, go, while I make use of 
this refreshing water, your kindness has al- 
lowed me.^’ 

“She gazed on him fondly while he spoke, 
and quickly passed one shapely arm through 
the opening, clasping him about the neck and 


114 


A Mistaken Identity. 


drawing him close to her. Their cheeks 
touched, hers hot and flushed, her bare round 
arm about his neck, almost making his head 
swim. Alas ! where was Ruth, where honor, 
where his love? Were all forgotten? Their 
eyes looked into eaeh other with burning 
intensity. Slowly the iron entered both their 
souls, and their lips met in a long clinging 
caress, that seemed to consume with the fire of 
its passion. Jessaline’s eyes closed, she gasped 
and seemed about to faint in the ecstacy of 
her delight. 

^‘Go now, sweet one,’^ said Henry, hoarsely. 
“Leave me for a time and return soon.” 

She did not speak, but pressed her lips again 
to his and closed the slide. Henry turned, al- 
most angry with himself, yet trying to excuse 
his actions by the thought that his object was 
his ultimate escape, an excuse whieh made him 
ashamed of himself, for he felt that it was but 
half a truth, and that at the bottom a guilty 
feeling was tugging at his heart. 

He brought his table to the window and 
with the greatest satisfaction proceeded to en- 
joy himself as only a man can who has been 
accustomed to his morning dip in the brook. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


115 


or a sponge bath on a cold winter morning, 
and has been denied the pleasure for a long 
time. Stripped to the waist he rubbed himself 
until his fair flesh glowed with the treatment. 
Then he did a little laundry work, by the way, 
giving his shirt a washing, and hanging it 
over the bars to the window to dry. Throw- 
ing his coat over his shoulders loosely, he 
seated himself upon the stool and was about 
to indulge in gloomy reflections when he 
heard the slide open and, turning, he beheld the 
impassioned face of Jessaline at the opening. 

‘‘ What, back so soon!” he cried, striding to 
the door. “Where did you go to? ” 

“Do not ask me 1 ” she cried, passionately. 
“I could not leave — I have been waiting until 
you should call.” 

Henry held up her chin with one hand while 
he looked questioningly into her face, but this 
time she neither blushed nor turned away her 
eyes, but looked at him boldly, and almost 
with a glance of triumph. 

“Jessaline, you have — ” 

Her hand was over his mouth in an in- 
stant. “ Well, wiiat if I have ?” she said, dog- 


116 


A Mistaken Identity. 


gedly. Who has a better right ? I love yon. 
You love me. In that is everything.’’ 

‘‘See here, Jessaline,” said Henry, hoarsely, 
passion and good sense eontending for the 
mastery. “We are wrong — at least I am— to 
have given awa3^ to my feelings, for I am not 
free to give what you so freely give me. I am 
wedded, and my love belongs to ar other.” 

Jessaline drew baek for an instant, an angry 
light blazing in her eyes. She showed in that 
moment the depth of her fieree nature in a 
dozen wa^^s. She panted with anger and jeal- 
ousy, then glided near to him again and drew 
his faee about so that the light shone full upon 
it, and holding him thus seemed to try to read 
his soul. As she did so, her ex^jression ehanged, 
and she laughed mockingly, as she pressed her 
lips to his a dozen times. 

“ What care I for your marriage. I heard of 
it, from hearing Pepper inform my father. She 
is welcome to her marriage, while I have 
your love. And that I have now, for I read 
your soul in your eyes. I know that your heart 
is filled with me. That as you lie upon your 
couch at night visions of myself are before 
you, even as 3^ou appear to me, and yet you 


Mistaken Identity. 


117 


have seen but my face, for the hall-way is 
dark, and gives you no more of me. Ah ! could 
you but see me, but clasp this form in your 
arms, never would you doubt the worthiness 
of your Jessaline to be all in all to you. I 
know this, for in my room have I casts of 
statues of beautiful women, and often when I 
have been about to retire, have I compared 
their shapely whiteness with my glowing flesh, 
and I have not suffered by the comparison. 
And now have I met the one man on whom I 
could bestow myself— you, my love, upon whom 
I bestow these kisses, the first I have ever given 
a man other than my father, and myself will I 
give to you, as willingly and as freely. 

What a position was this for a young man 
to be placed in, who was already almost half 
in love with the object. Her passion over- 
powered him, and almost won him to herself, 
yet he made a slight struggle with himself, 
hoping at the same time, that he would fail. 

^‘Listen, Jessaline,’^ he said, striving to sup- 
press the passion in his voice, owe my duty, 
my allegiance to another, but even so, and 
should T forget that duty, it would be little, for 
I am a man, and the world remembers naught 


118 


A Mist'aken Identitv. 


that men do, against them, nor does it blame 
them that they stray for a while from the 
paths of rectitude. With you, it would be dif- 
ferent. What more could we be to each other 
than guilty partners in a guilty passion? 
Reflect, ere it is too late. Mind, Ido not wish 
to lay the stress of this upon you. Should we 
go on to the end, the fault would be equally 
mine, the crime greater, for you injure no one 
but yourself, while I — I wrong all. Come, Jes- 
saline, say that the cost is too great.’’ 

For answer, she drew his head to hers and 
caressed him, as only a passionate woman can : 

“You are mine at heart, and mine you shall 
be in fact,” she said. “You are bound to me, 
heart to heart, and I shall do only as I please 
with you. I read in your eyes that you covet 
me — well, I am yours, so say no more about 
duty, for that is past. Where passion rules, 
throw duty to the winds. Oh ! my love, my 
love, how do you think I could live without 
you now ? You have aroused in me a sleeping 
dream that consumes me. Till I met you I did 
not live. I was but a girl, who existed, from 
day to day, until the king of her heart should 
come. He came, sweet love, my heart awoke, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


119 


the blood coursed through my veins, and I 
lived — because I loved.’^ 

“Live, then, and love,’^ cried Henry, giving 
himself up entirely to the passion inspired by 
this strange young woman. “Let us forget all 
else in this gloomy place, but that love lives, 
and that we are love.’^ 

“Do you think that I will leave you to pass all 
your time in this dark room,” she asked, twin- 
ing both her fair arms about his neck, though 
the rough edges of the opening scratched 
them as she passed them through, “while I 
have the cosiest place in all Charleston for my 
very own. “Listen, love,” her warm moist 
lips pressed close to his: “No one is on this 
floor beside myself. You must have noticed 
the room as you came up the stairs, on your 
first arrival. It is in the front corner of the 
house, and no one ever intrudes there. Uriand 
my father sleep on the lower floor, and never 
come here, except to look after you at their 
regular hours, llri carries the keys to your 
room, and I can easily get them from him, and 
have a duplicate made before I return them. 
There is my own little room, as much my home 
as if it were my castle. You can escape for a 


120 


A Mistaken Identity. 


time, each day, from your captivity, to the 
captivity of these arms.’’ 

‘‘Whose clasp is as soft and sweet,” cried he, 
passionately, “as the heart of the sweet 
tempter whose kisses set my soul on fire.” 

“Now, good-bye, my love,” she replied 
hurriedly. “I hear Uri down stairs, and I 
must not arouse his suspicions.” 

With an embrace and caress, as strong as 
her own passionate nature, she left him, clos- 
ing and fastening the slide in the door ere she 
left. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE FAIR AND THE FALSE. 

Left alone, Henry threw himself upon the 
couch, his heart filled with conflicting emo- 
tions. For a time he felt his soul consumed 
with the passion inspired by the fierce girl, 
and he seemed to be in a dream, almost pain- 
ful in its intensity. Guilty, he knew he was at 
heart, and more so that he had not the strength 
of character to resist the feeling that was draw- 
ing him toward a vortex which might engulf 
him in his own shame. What if he should end 
by becoming so much the slave of this bear- 
tiful being, that he would forget the sweet pure 
woman who was now his bride, and live con- 
tented in this prison life. The idea was mad- 
ness to him, and he resolved to combat with 
all his will, the subtle influence he felt stealing 
over him. 

His brain filled with the events that had 
passed during the last few days, he tried to 
become composed, to think rationally, and he 


122 


A Mistaken Identic V. 


forced himself to look the future in the face. 
He felt that he must be master of himself, and 
put aside this last temptation. Perhaps the 
maiden herself would thank him for it in time, 
and see that he had done it for the best. In 
spite of himself he could not help a pang at 
the thought of putting by the sweet gift so 
freely offered him. He was not a saint, and 
yet a just man would not hesitate to say that 
he was more virtuous than many would have 
been, under the same cireumstances, for young 
blood is warm, and young brains think but 
little of consequences. After a time he sank 
into a troubled slumber, in which visions of 
Ruth and Jessaline contended for the mastery. 

The dark beauty, however, was little troub- 
led in regard to the righteousness of her resolve. 
A woman’s trouble comes only witli the first 
thoughts df her love. When she has determined 
upon the course she will take, there is no look- 
ing back, no desire to retrace the step resolved 
upon. Her whole ambition is to fulfill the 
desire of her heart. 

Jessaline allowed no time to elapse before 
commeneing upon her plan of action. She 
at once sought out Uri, and entered into con- 


A MiSI'AkEN iBfiN'M'TY. 


123 


versation with him, resolved to do her utmost 
to further her plans. The face of the unkempt 
giant beamed upon her as she entered the room, 
where he was busy in preparing a fowl for the 
evening repast. 

“Well, Uri,’^ she said, in her pleasantest tone 
of voice, which was all the more pleasant to 
the hearer, for the reason that it was not often 
that he received such kind attention from her, 
“ when, pray, is father to be back again 

“Some time yet. Miss Jess,” he answered in a 
deep voice, glancing at her almost with hungry 
eyes. “The old gent’s off with Mr. Pepper, on 
some bit of work. I wish he ’d a taken me, I 
do, only p’raps I’d rather take care on you.” 

“Of course you would, Uri, and I feel per- 
fectly safe here under your care. You wouldn’t 
allow any one to harm me, I know.” 

“Harm you,” said the gaunt giant, raising 
his form to its full height, and stretching out 
one long arm, while his eyes blazed fiercely. 
“ Let them try — that’s all. Let one, no matter 
who he be, but dare to lay a finger on you, and 
I’d tear him to pieces.” A threat which his 
fierce aspect and wiry frame, made him appear 
capable of doing. 


124 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Peace, Uri!’’ exclaimed the girl, almost 
alarmed at the passion she had invoked. 
have no doubt that you would do anything 
for me, and when the time comes, I know that 
you will prove your assertion.^’ 

^‘Try me and see,’^ he said, resuming his 
work quietly. 

Jessaline perched upon the edge of the table 
and watched him for a moment, a little in 
doubt how to get at her object. She knew 
that Uri would do anything she asked of him, 
but still she was sensible of the fact that she 
must not rouse his jealousy. His feeling for her, 
she could control, but should she arouse the 
other demon, the result might be dangerous to 
the man she loved. For a moment she thought, 
and then her resolve was made. 

‘‘Uri,” she said, “I want youto do an errand 
for me, that will put youto some little trouble. 
Will you?” 

“ There ’s nothing I’d not do for you — ^that 
you know,” and he waited silently for her 
command. 

She thought for a few moments before speak- 
ing. Her ultimate object was to get a key to 
the door that separated her from Henry, the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


125 


barrier that prevented her from throwing her- 
self into his arms. She knew that if she made 
any allusion to the one key, which she coveted, 
the suspicions of the simple fellow might be 
aroused. Could she keep his mind away from 
her one object, she was safe. His mind was 
only capable of grasping one thing at a time. 

“ Howman3" keys have you on your bunch 
she asked, finally. 

There ^s four,^’ he answered, taking them 
from his belt. There ^s the one to the wall 
gate, that 's the big iron one ; this one to the 
barred door, front ; this brass one to the cel- 
lar, and the big copper one to the new door 
up stairs.’^ 

Now the latter was the one most desired 
by the girl. So far he had no suspicions. She 
must keep him so. 

“Often, when you are all away,” she said, 
calmly, “I have only the key to my own room, 
and am locked in the house, and behind that 
wall. No one has ever thought that I might 
have use for the keys myself. I want you to 
go and have a duplicate bunch made for me at 
the locksmith’s.” 

“Where ’s the use ?” asked Uri. “ Can’t you 


1-6 


A Mistaken Ipentity. 


ask she old man to let you keep these when we 
go out 

‘‘ He would n’t like that, and besides, I would 
not like to be disturbed by having to get up 
at all hours to let you in.” 

don’t just like to,” said he, stubbornly. 
‘^The governor wouldn’t like it.” 

Jessaline began to despair at his obstinacy. 
She had hardly expected that he would refuse 
her, even for an instant, unless his suspicions 
were aroused; yet he seemed about to frus- 
trate her plans after all. 

“Now see here, Uri,” she said, appealingly, 
“You are all wrong. Suppose that when you 
are away, and I am alone, the rebels should 
attack the house, or it should be set on fire, 
how would it fare with me? Would you wish 
to see me burned alive, like a rat in a trap ?” 

“Before God, no!” he cried, “ why did n’t you 
say so afore ? Good Lord I what a fool I was, 
not to think on it long ago. I ’ll go at once, or 
when you say.” 

The girl’s eyes flashed with triumph, and her 
heart leaped. She would succeed at last ; her 
passion would have full sway. She would be 
able to get to her love. She almost panted in 


A Mistaken Identity. 


127 


her eagerness, 3^et made a strong effort to keep 
calm. “There,’’ she said, handing him some 
silver, “take this, and get me them made at 
onee — before night, if you care for my safety.” 

Uri caught up his hat and strode out at the 
door without another word. Like all simple 
people of one idea, he could think of nothing 
else when she had impressed the necessity upon 
him. 

“Don’t whisper a word of it to them. Re- 
member! ” she cried to him, as he went. 

“Trust me. Miss,” and the gate closed after 
him with a bang. 

The girl ran to her own room, and flinging 
herself on her couch, fell to trembling violently 
for a few moments, which went to show that 
her nerves had been strained to a high pitch by 
her conversation with Uri. She had been so 
r.ear failing in her object that her sudden suc- 
cess had shaken her more than she was wont 
to be moved. Gradually she became composed, 
and a dreamy smile passed over her face as she 
pictured to herself the satisfaction with which 
her adored one would walk from his prison 
room, and breathe the purerair of her pleasant 
retreat. But what if she ^hotilcj lo^se him 


128 


A Mistaken Identity. 


tlirougli her thoughtlessness? What if he 
should form the idea of escaping as soon as he 
had been allowed the freedom of the upper 
part of the house. She sprang up, startled at 
the thought, but a quiet, reassured smile grad- 
ually stole over her face. 

^‘He is a gentleman,’^ she thought, ‘‘and if I 
get his word thathe will not attempt to escape, 
I know he will keep it. Then, after a time, per- 
haps, he will go and take me with him. What 
do I care for the rest, when I have him. He 
shall be all to me, and for him alone will 
Hive.” 

She had a strong desre to go at once to pass 
a few moments at the door of her lover’s 
prison, but she restrained her impatience. She 
was woman enough to know that he would 
think more of her for being left to himself for a 
time. She knew he would think of her while 
she was away from him, and a tender smile 
came to her dark face as she imagined how she 
was filling his thoughts at that very moment. 

So she kept away from him until it was time 
to take him his next repast, Uri having not yet 
returned, although the evening was growing 
late. Then she appeared at the opening with 


A Mistaken Identity. 


129 


a face as calm as if nothing had ever transpired 
between them, while her heart was thumping 
against her breast so fiercely that she almost 
feared he would hear it. 

He noticed at once the altered look on her 
face, and did not speak, thinking that she had 
changed her mind in regard to her feelings 
toward him, and had resolved that the cost 
was too great. 

She handed in the plate and jug, as usual, 
looked at him a moment and closed the slide. 
The sound of her soft footsteps down the pas- 
sage seemed to fall upon his heart. She either 
loved him not, or had been satisfied to take 
some other. In spite of his determination to 
forego the love offered him, either the disap- 
pointment or else the blow to his self-esteem, 
made him the most miserable of men, and he 
flung himself upon the stool, buried his face in 
his hands and gave himself up to gloomy 
thoughts. What a miserable lonesome time 
he would have now, in that gloomy hole. Still, 
why was it not all for the best? She had 
tempted him with her passionate ways and 
clinging arms, and he had nearly fallen into 
the abyss. He took no small degree of satir- 


130 


A Mistaken Identity. 


faction to himself, over the thought that he 
had advised her to have none of him, and to 
give up all thought of love, where he was con- 
cerned. Yet there was a bitterness withal. A 
feeling as if something had gone from his life, 
something lost. She might have been his, and 
now she was lost to him, perhaps for others. 

On such thoughts the time passed until the 
shadows of evening began to fall outside, 
and his almost dungeon was shrouded in 
gloom. He had composed himself, and was 
trying to study on some plan for escape, when 
he heard a rustling, and a light footfall in the 
hallway; the slide opened, and the light from 
a candle flared in through the opening. 

‘‘Henry,’’ murmured a voice. 

There was no need to tell him more. There 
w^as a wealth of concentrated passion in the 
tone, and he felt it thrill him. Why did she 
hold such an influence over him? 

“ What — ^you again ?” he said. 

“Well, and why not?” she asked, with a 
murmuring laugh of deepest pleasure. “You 
are my prisoner, and I come to you when I 
wish, for though you be my captive, I am as 


A Mistaken Identity. 


131 


much your slave. I came to exact a promise 
from you.’^ 

“What is it he asked, with a sigh. He felt 
the demon creeping through his veins again at 
sight of her. 

“Your word, as a gentleman, that if I let you 
leave this room with me, you will not attempt 
an escape ?“ 

“I prefer to remain here,’^ he answered, 
sulkily. 

“Now you are cross. You know you do not. 
Come, promise me.^’ 

“I repeat that I do not wish to leave here.“ 

“Now you are unkind. Come closer.^’ 

He drew near her, reluctantly, like a spoiled 
child, using — had he only known it — ^the very 
means to fill this strange girl with only a 
deeper passion. 

“ I can only get one arm through this small 
opening, holding the candle as I must, so I 
must coax you with one arm.^^ 

She drew his face to hers and kissed him 
passionately. The touch thrilled her until she 
could keep from him no longer. 

“Hold the candle,^^ she said, shortly, passing 
it in to him. 


132 


A Mistaken Identity. 


There was the noise of a key turning in the 
lock, the door swung in, the girl gliding in at 
the opening, pausing ere she closed the door. 
She formed a picture seldom seen. Her left 
hand grasped the door’s edge as she had 
pushed it open, the right being drawn behind 
her, in which she clasped the huge key. Her 
head was thrown back as she looked up at 
him, and one foot was thrown forward ready 
for the step that would bring her past the 
swing of the door. The light of the candle shed 
itself softly over her flushed face and its shadow 
outlined her perfect limb and hip, which the 
clinging garment she wore hardly served to 
more than conceal. The fair round arms were 
bare, and the light glimmered and glinted on a 
neck and bust that were perfect in curve and 
fullness. 

Her hair had been loosened from its confine- 
ment, and now hung behind her far below her 
knees, not in a thick mass, but in a fleecy fine- 
ness, the draft coming in through the door 
blowing it fitfully about her hip and down the 
limb, the candle light seeming to burnish its 
raven blackness. 

‘‘Here is the door — open as you see,” she 


A Mistaken Identity. 


l33 


said in a suppressed voice. “I alone am in 
the way. You have but to strike me down, 
and yonder lies the open road, and freedom.’^ 

‘‘Never, m^^ God! never,” cried he, in a pas- 
sionate voice. “ I may covet freedom, but not 
in that way. Never could I harm such sweet 
flesh.” 

She smiled a little at her triumph. She felt 
that he was hers, yet she resolved to try him to 
the utmost, to play with him as the kitten does 
with its first rnouse. She longed to throw 
herself into his arms, to twine herself about 
him, and feel his hot kisses upon her lips, her 
arms, her neck, yet she felt a certain pleasure 
in the game she was playing. 

“You hurt me as much by your refusal to 
grant my request,” she said, sorrowfully. 
“ Why can you not give me your word not to 
take advantage of the liberty I give you ? You 
will be so much happier. Can you not look 
from my windows out upon the broad coun- 
try, and see the river in the distance where it 
winds toward the blue sea ? Then you will 
have me for company, who will never tire of 
trying to please you while you are with me. 
Come, love, we are wasting these precious 


134 


A Mistaken Identity. 


hours while the night draws on. Hours that 
were made for love, and us.’^ 

She saw that he was wavering, that his reso- 
lution was fast losing Itself in the intoxica- 
tion of her presence, and she glided to him and 
passed her arm about him, lifting her cheek 
and bending his face down to hers. 

“ Come — I await your answer.” 

Witch that you are,” he said, passionately, 
passing his disen gagaged arm about her and 
pressing her to him with -a force which might 
have hurt another, yet only brought forth from 
her a gasp of delight, ‘‘I promise, not to escape 
by means of any act of yours. Does that sat- 
isfy?” 

^Tis all I ask. Now come.” 

He hesitated for a moment and she felt his 
resistance, which she removed by a passionate 
caress. He glanced about the room like one 
in a dream, lifted the candle above his head to 
light the way and followed the passionate wo- 
man who clasped his hand in herhot palm and 
drew him from his prison, closing the door be- 
hind them, then gliding softly towards the front 
of the house she drew him toward her own 
door, which stood slightly ajar. Here she 


A Mistaken Identity. 


135 


paused for just an instant, glanced at him 
while a glow of color swept over her face, saw 
the feverish light in his eyes, and then pushed 
open the door and drew him in. A wave of 
light from a bright candelabra dazzled him for 
an instant, then, as his eyes became accus- 
tomed to the light, he looked about him, and 
had he been less filled with his passion, he 
would have noticed that it was wonderfully 
elegant for the house in which it was situated. 

The room was comfortably large, and con- 
tained two windows that were now draped 
with heavy curtains, deep fringe hanging from 
the lambrequins over them. In the insidewall 
was built a large fireplace, in which the lazy 
flame from a huge stick of wood mounted fit- 
fully toward the chimney, giving just suffi- 
cient heat to make the room comfortable in the 
damp night. The candelabra stood on the 
broad mantel above, in which five candles 
gave quite a lustre to the furnishing of the 
room, which was filled with a thousand and 
one little pieces of fancy work that only a wo- 
man’s hand could have completed. The car- 
pet was soft and the chairs inviting. A long 
couch was pushed against the wall at one side 


136 


A Mistaken Identity. 


of the -fireplace, at the other, half parted cur- 
tains showed into the alcove, in which could 
be seen the snowy coverings of a bed, and, 
above all, came that subtile perfume that 
clings about the abode of a pretty woman. 

Jessaline shut the door carefully after her, 
pushed him quietly into an easy chair— her own 
favorite — which she wheeled up to the fire, 
sank on her knees at his side, and flinging her 
arms about him, rested her face upon his bo- 
som, where she could feel the fierce beating of 
his heart bounding in unison with her own. 

‘‘Now, love, she whispered, “drive away 
all thoughts of care and live in the present. 
This room is my very own, and yours; so all 
is mine, for mine you are, too. Here are all the 
comforts of life, and if you weary I will sing 
to you, songs of love I learned from my Span- 
ish mother. Is not this more sweet than be- 
ing separated by that cruel door? Now I can 
fold you in my arms, and feel your heart beat 
against my breast. Tell me you love me.’^ 

He pressed her close to him and kissed her 
passionately on lips, neck and bosom. “I love 
you, sweet. Love you in spite of myself, for 


A Mistaken Identity. 


137 


you are the most enticing woman alive. God 
help me ! Where will this end ? ” 

She laughed a low laugh of pleasure as she 
threw herself upon his knee and drew his head 
down till it rested on her panting breast. 

“You are mine alone ! Mine at last ! When I 
first saw you, in the opening of the door, I 
knew hardly what I felt, except that my whole 
being went out to you of its own accord. I 
longed to have you near me. I tossed rest- 
lessly in my bed that night and dreamed of 
you. My soul seemed to fill with new life as a 
new feeling, some new desire took possession 
of me. Oh ! love, teach me what it is that 
draws me to you. Teach me the tale my own 
heart is striving to tell me, as it beats madly 
within my breast.’^ 

She paused to lavish her caresses upon him 
with all the abandon of an impassioned wo- 
man, caring for nothing but the fulfillment of 
her own destiny as governed by her own de- 
sires. 

“It is no longer a temptation with me, dear 
one,^^ said he, laughing recklessly, “for should 
you now draw back, it is I who would be the 
tempter. Oh ! sweetest of sweet ones, the pas- 


138 A Mistaken Identity. 

sion you have awakened is greater than your 
own.” 

“Tempt me then,” she whispered, mock- 
ingly, her eyes swimming and her breath reach- 
ing his cheek in a warm, perfumed wave, 
“ tempt me now! ” 

For answer he spoke not, but, bending 
down, raised her in his arms, up from her seat. 
Her arms clung tightly about his neck. He 
took one step — “There is yet time,” he whis- 
pered, for he could hardly speak. “Tell me 

“I tell you — yes — for love’s sake,” she 
breathed, her arms tightening; then her eyes 
closed as a thrill went through the perfect 
form he held in his arms. A moment later, the 
room was alone, and only the lazily waving 
curtains, as they swung back to place, their 
velvety surface presenting an ever varying hue 
in the last ray of the setting sun, was left To 
tell the tale of a great temptation, and a great 
fall. 

Alas! Poor Ruth! 


CHAPTER XII. 


A DREARY OUTLOOK. 

Life at the plantation resumed its weary 
way after the capture of Henry, and the escape 
of Walter, a portentious silence seeming to be 
over all. Ruth went about with a pale face, 
busied with her daily duties, and Eloise ap- 
peared to droop visibly, yet found time to 
cheer her companion. It was one virtue of her 
disposition, that no matter how sorrow might 
blight her, it made her ever the more ready to 
sympathize with others in their afflictions ; so 
much so that Ruth learned gradually to lean 
on her, morally speaking. Henry was of 
course, the bond between them — though Ruth 
knew it not— which made it the easier to cheer 
her, even when her own heart was near break- 
ing with the effort. 

As for Roger, he felt little aside from indig- 
nation at the events connected with the cap- 
ture, and prevailed upon Joshua to remain 

with him, off and on, in order that this indig- 
139 


140 


A Mistaken Identity. 


nation might find vent in gloomy invectives 
against the British, and predictions for their 
complete overthrow in the end ; for no matter 
how his distant neighbors might croak at 
events, the staunch loyalty to the cause, evinced 
by the old colonist, never wavered for an in- 
stant. Strange to say, he felt little fear for the 
safety of his son. He had a presentiment, 
which is ever strong in elderly people, that the 
young fellow was coming out of the struggle 
safely, and he trusted to that feeling. He was 
probably a little nervous as to what would 
happen Henry, on Ruth^s account, but never 
feared to have a cheering word for her in her 
sore trouble. 

There was unusual vigilance among the ne- 
groes, who were ever on the alert for spies, or 
news of the young men. It was astonishing 
in those days, the amount of news that was 
picked up by these dark people, and the rapid- 
ity with which it was transmitted to distances, 
that in those da3"s seemed great, was often 
quite astonishing to the men of war. 

Some time elapsed, and the daily life of the 
household had settled again into its regulation 
smoothness, but little news coming from the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


141 


wars with the exception of an occasional 
report of a battle in the north. These reports 
were not always the most reliable, and Roger 
would fume and fret over a defeat, that would 
be sometimes turned into a victory by later 
reports. 

One evening a few weeks after the stirring 
events that had occurred to them, Roger and 
Joshua were seated in the shade of the vines on 
the veranda, while Ruth and Eloise wereenjoy- 
ing the shelter of a huge sycamore, at the edge 
of the lawn, the former engaged in some needle- 
work, while Eloise read from a book that lay 
in her lap. 

‘‘Are you not tired of reading, dear?’^ asked 
Ruth, interrupting her at the close of a 
passage. 

“I? Oh, no, cousin,’’ raising the sweet face, 
in which were a pair of sad eyes, so unlike 
those of the bright young girl she had been, 
“it seems to rest me.” 

“Put by the book for a time, and let us 
talk of-” 

“Of what, dear?” 

“Of Henry.” 

Eloise turned her head away for an instant 


142 


A Mistaken Identity. 


to conceal the look of pain that came over her 
face. It had been some little time since the 
snbjeet had been mentioned between them, and 
the old pain came back to her. Would she 
never forget — never get to think of him with- 
out that pang at her heart ? She had to make 
an effort to repress a weary sigh as she 
answered : 

‘‘Well, Ruth, and what now 

“Don’t be vexed with me, dear. If your 
heart was filled with him, as mine is, you 
would not wonder that I wished to talk of 
him.” 

Eloise smiled a little weary smile. How 
little Ruth knew about the thoughts of her 
heart. If her heart was filled with him. She 
almost felt like breaking into a wild laugh at 
the thought. Ify when her heart was nearly 
breaking with the anxiety she felt for his sake. 

“It has been some time now, sinee his cap- 
ture,” continued Ruth, “and we have neither 
heard from him, or Walter. It is almost cer- 
tain that he could not have escaped, and prob- 
ably he is in close confinement in a Charleston 
prison.” 

The tears sprang to her eyes at the thought, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


143 


and she brushed them away with her hand- 
kerchief. Ruth seldom wept, but of late she 
had become more than unusually nervous, and 
less mistress of herself. 

‘^He is a soldier, said Eloise, raising her 
head, proudly, “and will not shrink from the 
consequences. He is fighting for his country 
and our homes, and will bear up bravely; so 
why should we be less brave ? Look matters 
in the face, and trust to Him above for the 
result.’^ 

“I fear I am weak, dear; but you must 
remember that I have been torn from my 
husband’s arms, with the wedding blessing 
little more than pronounced, and he must be 
in misery. Think how he must mourn for lib- 
erty, and for me, his wife.” 

“ Have patience, and hope ; for life is little in 
these troubled times without them both. Try 
and remember too, that Walter has escaped, 
and will never desert his friend. They are 
firmly attached to each other, and my brother 
will leave no stone unturned to rescue him. 
You know his great strength, the most power- 
ful young man, they say, in the colonies, and 
nothing can withstand him.” 


144 


A Mistaken Identity. 


The girl grew animated in spite of her sor- 
row, and her eyes flashed with pride as she 
thought of the brother, that had been the hero 
other youth, as Henry had been its love. 

‘‘You do reassure me, said Ruth, more hope- 
fully than she had yet spoken, “and I will try 
and look at our sorrows with your hopeful 
eyes.^^ 

“There’s father laughing now,” said Eloise, 
as the old man’s voice was heard in answer to 
a sally from his aged ministerial friend. “I 
wish we could all believe as he does. He thinks 
that nothing can happen to our boys.” 

She arose as she spoke, shutting her book 
and gliding toward the veranda. Ruth re- 
sumed her work, with thoughts faraway with 
the absent one. Why did he not return, or 
else send her some word? When would her 
heart be set at rest? One word, one little 
written line would be sufficient. 

Roger greeted his daughter in his old fond 
way, and drew her to the arm of the huge 
chair that was his favorite, and in which he 
passed the most of his time. 

“My little girl does not look well. What 
think you, friend Bell?” he said, pinching her 


A Mistaken Identity. 


145 


cheek, playfully, that the eolor might come to 
them for an instant, as of old. 

‘‘Rather pale, I admit,” answered Joshua, 
“but it is pale times. Apprehension drives the 
blood back from the eheeks of every true son 
of our eountry, for the erisis approaehes.” 

“Aye! that it does,” cried Roger, his eye 
kindling, and his martial spirit getting the 
better of him. “A erisis, too, that I see with a 
prophetic eye. I see the red-eoats fleeing from 
before our righteous arms, and the cross of St. 
George lowered before conquering arms of the 
child of England. Then, for the last time, will 
the cannon peal forth, not in battle, but 
rejoieing at the Heaven sent vietory. Woe, 
woe to the king of Britain and his hosts 1 ” 

Hardly had he finished his impassioned 
words, when the breeze that rustled the leaves 
of the trees overhead, brought with it the faint 
rumble of an approaehing storm. 

“ Listen !” said Roger, rising, excitedly, his 
trained ear catching the sound, his eye spark- 
ling. 

Boom-m-m — 

There was no mistaking it now. 

“A distant battle,” said Roger. “Now may 


146 


A Mistaken Identity. 


all the powers for good be with our cause in 
this, and spare our loved ones ! 

‘‘Amen!^’ said Joshua, fervently, ‘‘and God 
be with our troops. May they wield the 
sword of might, and smite the red-coats hip 
and thigh. May their every bullet have its 
billet, and may they prevail in their attacks.” 

“Is it a very great battle?” asked Eloise, 
trembling slightly, and passing her arm about 
the waist of Ruth, who had joined them upon 
hearing the sounds. 

‘‘I hardly know,” answered her father. “If 
the distance is great, and the guns large, it is 
a heavy struggle ; but the^Miia^^ be but light 
field -pieces and the battle but a skirmish 
among some of the scouting parties. We will 
learn soon, be that as it.ma3^ for Sam is out 
on the Charleston road and will bring us such 
news as is going about, when he returns.” 

The battle, whether great or small, appeared 
to be a lively one, for the freshening breeze, as 
it came in stronger gusts than before, brought 
tjie faint echo of the rattle of musketry, min- 
gled with the occasional boom of a greater 
gun, at each sound of which the girls would 
start, as if they expected that in the sound 


A Mistaken Identity. 


147 


was the fear of danger to a dear one. The 
sounds lasted for fully a half hour, and then 
died away altogether, leaving the listeners in 
as much doubt as ever as to the extent of the 
engagement. 

The circumstance turned the talk upon the 
war, a subject in which the old gentlemen 
grew quite animated and eloquent, while the 
girls seated themselves near by and listened, 
intently. The talk had a fascination for 
them, even though they almost dreaded to 
hear it, for it often turned upon how this or 
that friend or neighbor had laid down his life 
for his country in doing some brave action. 
They had talked for some time, when the 
sound of many hoofs in the distance, caused 
them to listen. 

They appear to be drawing nearer, ’Ven- 
tured Roger. 

^‘They are fugitives, I’ll be bound, from the 
engagement. Now we may know who has 
prevailed,” said Joshua. 

‘‘You are right, and they approach rapidly. 
Soon they will be near, unless they take the 
other road. By their coming this way, they 
must be red-coats, for our men would hardly 


148 


A Mistaken Identity. 


take the route to Charleston. Ah ! right it is. 
See!’^ exclaimed he, as the head horseman ap- 
peared in sight, ‘‘ ^tis the British, in full flight. 
Huzza 

‘‘Quiet, friend Roger,’’ said the cautious di- 
vine. “Yex them not.” 

“They have little time to tend to ought but 
their own safety,” laughed the old gentleman. 
“They are in over-haste about that.” 

The cavalcade dashed by in headlong haste, 
as if in fear of pursuit. As they passed, one of 
the party slackened up a moment, and turned 
to look back into the edge of the wood from 
which the road opened. 

“The young fellow ’s down,” he hallooed to 
the rest of the party. 

“ Let him go ; he ’s done for,” came back the 
hoarse reply, and the humane one gave a last 
look, turned his horse and galloped after them 
in mad haste. 

“ One of them must have come to grief back 
there,” muttered Joshua. “Had we not bet- 
ter look after him ? ” 

“It were better if they minded their own af- 
fairs,” grumbled Roger, “yet we must see to 
him, I fear, out of humanity. I’ll send one of 


A Mistaken Identity. 


140 


the hands down that way. Whoever it is, he 
is probably dead ere this, or his companions 
would hardly have left him. Here, you Jim,’^ 
he called to a grinning black, who was at 
work near b3^ ‘‘Runup the road and see if 
3^ou find a red-coat lying in the road.^^ 

The young ladies had watched the events 
with pale faces, their arms about each other, 
each feeling saddened over the fate of a human 
being, even though he were an enemy. The 
party watched Jim as he leisurely crossed the 
grass, toward the road. The sun was low in 
the Heavens, and threw its light between the 
trees on to the bright grass, which sloped 
gently down to the high bushes that lined the 
road, and served as a hedge. At one spot in 
the lane the sun^s rays gave the leaves an un- 
usual brilliancy, while the rest of the line of 
verdure was thrown into deep shadow by the 
long guant shadows of the tree tops. 

While the whole party were watching Jim 
as he neared this spot, the branches suddenly 
parted, and a man staggered through, his 
coat off, and the white of his shirt dyed with 
the crimson stream that flowed from a gash 
in his head. He stood there a moment, his 


150 


A Mistaken Identity. 


arms apart, holding back the slight branches, 
and the snn lit np his pale faee, and glistened 
on the bright red gash in the head. He gazed 
fixedly upon the group on the veranda for an 
instant, then he reeled, and, with a little ery, 
sank prone upon the grass. At the same time 
Jim, the darkey, threw his arms above his 
head and rushed forward, exclaiming: 

Oh, my Lo’d ! ” he cried, “ Massa Henry/^ 

Good God ! I thought so,’^ cried Roger, and 
he turned to Ruth, who had fainted in the 
arms of Eloise. 



CHAPTER XIII. 


FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH. 

The two old gentlemen hurried down toward 
the road, where Jim, the black, was down on 
his knees, bending over the silent figure and 
uttering those peculiar wails, that never come 
from any but the African race, with such apor- 
tentious sentiment. 

‘^Run up to the cabins at once,’^ said Roger, 
when they drew near, “and send down a couple 
of the boys to help us. Then mount the fastest 
horse in the stable, and go to the village for 
the surgeon. Quick now — there is no time to 
be lost.^’ 

Jim bounded away on his errand, only paus- 
ing to give one last groan, before he left. 

“I would send to Chaideston itself, were 
there any need, in spite of the foe,” said Roger, 
“but that I feel that Dr. Mitchell is the most 
practical man of all, in cases of this kind.” 

“Aye!” said Joshua, “ and far more learned 
in surgery than the w^^^^^e tribe together at the 

151 


152 


A Mistaken Identity. 


city. Gently, now, Roger,” he cautioned, as 
they raised the form of the young man from 
the ground, ‘‘all sudden shocks must be 
avoided, so walk slowly.” 

“Poor young man,” said Roger, tenderly. 
“I hardly expected this fate for him. How 
came he by these equipments, think you? ” 

“Do not ask,” said theminister, “he will tell 
soon enough of his own accord, when he re- 
gains his senses.” 

Roger, however, was only half appeased, and 
he had in fact been the only one during the 
excitement, to notice that the coatless young 
man was undoubtedly attired in the nether 
dress of an officer in the British horse. He 
shook his head doubtfully, as if puzzled to 
account for it, and with a determination which 
showed that he would require a thorough 
explanation before he was satisfied. 

They carried him into the house, and up to 
the room that was always kept ready for 
Walter, in case he should come unexpectedly. 
Ruth and Eloise had recovered their presence 
of mind sufficiently to assist in taking care of 
him, and his clotted shirt was removed, the 
blood washed from his white face and every- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


153 


thing made as comfortable as tender care and 
loving hands could make it. Then came the 
long wait for the physician, that seemed inter- 
minable. How long these hours seem, when 
we sit by the bedside of one we love, and count 
the minutes, while the dear one lies so still near 
us; only a slight sighing breath, once in a 
while, to tell that the soul has not passed from 
the still body, and left us naught but clay. 

The two girls sat by his side in silence, and 
when they did speak it was hardly above a 
whisper. The two old gentlemen sat near the 
window, watching eagerly for the return of 
Jim, with the man of medicine. The silence 
was oppressive, and once in a while the injured 
man’s breath would catch for an instant, and 
the two girls would turn pale with fear, lest 
the effort to fill the lungs would be the last. 
Once Ruth bent to press a soft kiss upon the 
unconscious cheek, and Eloise buried her face 
in her hands. Oh ! why was fate so cruel, that 
she dared not caress him ? — the man she felt, 
with a pang, she still loved. 

‘‘He is changed,” said Ruth in a whisper, 
“sadly changed since they tore him from me 
on our wedding day. See how much thinner 


154 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the poor face is, and how pale the neck. His 
hands, even, seem to have grown small and 
slender. He seems so different from when he 
stood before me that day, and vowed to love 
and cherish me as his bride. 

^‘Confinement and privation willdomnch to 
change spirits that have been free as air, like 
Walter and — your husband,^’ answered Eloise, 
softly. “ He is even handsomer than before, in 
his trouble.’’ 

And, indeed, such appeared to be the case. 
The dark hair had been washed free from the 
blood, except at the wound, and fell about the 
pale temples in slender curls. Its length when it 
hung down the neck, as was the fashion of the 
period, allowing a few wavy locks to lie over 
the shoulder. The eyes were closed, but that 
only served to show the length of the dark 
lashes that lay over the cheek. The lips, 
thinner than usual, seemed almost transparent 
from the loss of blood, while the pale cheek 
showed the shadow of a prominent cheek-bone. 
The ears seemed to have thinned perceptibly 
and lie closer to the head. 

“Oh! Henry, my love, how they have 
changed you,’’ sighed Ruth, the silent tears 


A Mistaken Identity. 


155 


breaking forth and coursing down her cheeks. 
^‘How they must have forced you to suffer.” 

^‘Hush! Ruth,” whispered Eloise, laying one 
cold and trembling hand upon her arm, “we 
should be thankful that it is into our keeping 
that Providence has assigned him in his hour 
of need. He might have been left to perish in 
the dark wood, with no one near him to give 
him a tender care.” 

“True, dear, but even now, he may never 
again speak to us. We may never hear his 
voice. What if he should die thus, sinking 
gradually into a death-like torpor. Oh ! 
cousin, can nothing be done? Why does not 
the doctor arrive ? ” 

“Patience,” said Eloise. 

“The doctor at last,” said Roger, from the 
window, with a sigh of relief. 

“And riding like mad,” finished Mr. Bell. 

“Thank God!” said Ruth, rising and going 
to the window, so eager was she, and she could 
hardly contain herself while he drew up to the 
door, where he was met by Roger, who gave 
his horse in charge to Jim and went with him 
at once to the sick chamber. 

Dr. Mitchell was a little sandy Scot, with a 


156 


A Mistaken IdentitiT. 


bright steel-gray eye, and a spriglitliness of 
manner that never failed to brighten up the 
anxious ones whenever he appeared in a sick 
room. 

‘‘Now what have we here? ” he asked, wip- 
ing the dust from his eyes with a huge snuff 
colored pocket handkerchief. “Ha! young 
men and the wars are sorecompany when they 
gang together.’’ 

The surgeon, it will be observed, was careful 
of his accent, but once in a while, under press- 
ure, mental or physical, he would occasionally 
use a Scotch word. 

“Now, let us see,” he continued, putting on 
his spectacles, and touching the hair about the 
wound with his large hand more tenderly than 
a woman. “I will require a bowl of soft 
water, that is all, I believe, and I would advise 
the ladies to retire, for a little — a very slight, 
I assure you — operation must be undergone, 
and Mr. Fuller, and my reverend friend will do 
very well to assist me.” 

“But, doctor — ” interrupted both girls, in a 
breath. 

“No buts, at all, my dears, but go down 


A Mistaken Identity. 


157 


stairs, and I will promise to call you in a short 
time. Now do gang awa.’^ 

^‘Is there any danger, doctor? ’’ asked Eloise 
as they are about to go, an anxious light in 
her eye, and a deeper paleness overspreading 
her face to the very neck, as she saw the shiny 
instruments in the bag. 

‘‘Not at present, little one, I promise you,^^ 
he answered, “the danger, if any, will come 
later on.^^ 

Satisfied with this, the girl followed Ruth 
down the stairs, and out again upon the ve- 
randa, where the coolness of an approaching 
twilight began to be felt. A portentious dread 
seemed to fill the atmosphere for these two 
3"Oung people, whose hearts appeared to be 
bound up inthe young man who lay up stairs, 
apparently d^’ing, if not already all but dead. 

In the sick room, the surgeon went about his 
work with a celerity that proved not only his 
familiarity with the work at hand, but also 
showed that some haste was neces, a y in its 
completion. 

“Now, we are all men,^^ he said, briskly, as 
he sponged the wound, softly, “and can work 
without any interference. Not that I don^t 


158 


A Mistaken Identity. 


appreciate the women in the sick room, bless 
them, they are as valuable and as necessary as 
angels are to Heaven, but the3^ are weak and 
uncanny about wounds and surgical opera- 
tions. Its their soft hearts, you know.^’ 

The young man never moved during the 
preliminaries; in fact, beseemed to have gradu- 
ally settled into a deeper lethargy than before, 
his breathing being hardly audible. The two 
old gentlemen watched anxiously, feeling little 
doubt that the end was near. 

“This is a very common result of war,^’ said 
Dr. Mitchell, talking rapidly. “The skull has 
been crushed by a blow from some rather 
blunt instrument, and a small piece presses 
against the brain. If I can relieve that, his re- 
covery to physical health is certain. Now, 
Mr. Fuller, I will trouble you to hold the head 
firmly, and toward the light, this way. I 
know that your nerve is like iron, for I have 
tried it before. My reverend friend can hold 
the bowl, should I require it. Now, sir, 
steady.’^ 

The bright instruments began their work 
swiftly and silently. Roger held the head not 


A Mistaken Identity. 


159 


vSoftl}^, 3^et as firm as in a Yise, and there was 
a tremble nor a quiver. The patient never 
stirred from his torpor, except once, when the 
doctor gave a little sigh of satisfaction, ex- 
tracted a small piece of bone, and laid down 
his instruments. The 3 "oung man had trem- 
bled slightly and a stronger breath seemed to 
struggle through his almost closed lips. 

The wound was then carefully treated and 
bandaged, and when the ladies were allowed 
to enter, the pale patient was undoubtedly 
much improved, as was evident from a more 
regular and stronger respiration. 

‘‘Oh! doctor, you have saved him,’^ said 
Ruth, taking his hand and pressing it in 
thankfulness. 

“Not I, my dear, for, now that the wound 
is relieved, it is you who must bring back the 
life to the body and brain. The ^^ouiig fellow 
was cruelly hurt, and he will be ill probably 
for some time. I fear a brain fever, and, as he 
has lost much blood, the care must be all the 
more thorough. I will leave you strong cor- 
dials for him and medicine to allay the fever.’’ 

“But what if he should grow worse?” 


160 


A Mistaken Identity. 


asked Ruth, and the appealing eyes of Eloise 
echoed the question. 

“Well, young ladies, to please you, I will 
consent to stay the night, if your father will 
agree to give me a bed, and send me off with a 
doch in d oris in the morning.’^ 

Roger promised, and the phj^sician was 
amply repaid with a glance from two pairs of 
lovely e3^es. The young ladies agreed to watch 
by the bedside that night with Luce, the cook, 
on a couch in the next room ready for an 
emergency, and the doctor not far off, sleep- 
ing, as doctors do, with one e^^e open, and the 
other but little more than closed. 

All night the two women watched over the 
loved though silent form. Ruth tried to have 
Eloise go to her rest, but the girl insisted upon 
remaining, supposedly to keep her cousin 
company, but in realit^^ that she might be near 
to hear the slightest need. Silently the hours 
passed away, broken only by the irregular 
breathing of the patient, who seemed gradu- 
ally to grow stronger, and still the two silent 
figures sat by the bedside, until the morning 
light began to steal in through the window, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


161 


and the morning songs of the glad birds told 
of the awakening day. Then the doctor re- 
lieved them , and sent them off to bed with the 
assurance that the patient was much better. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


DO NOT KNOW YOu!'’ 

The fear that had been felt by Dr. Mitchell 
over the condition of his patient, appeared to 
be only too well founded, for though on the 
following day more visible signs of returning 
life became apparent, a fever began to show 
itself, which attacked the brain and proved 
unusually obstinate. However, after many 
weary days and nights of watching, with hope • 
often almost fled, the danger point was passed, 
and the patient rested peacefully, though 
so weak that it seemed as if his every breath 
was an exertion almost too great for the 
weary body to endure. 

Strange to say, during all the fever, even 
when at its height, the young man made no 
mention of the events that had transpired 
during his captivity. Nor, in fact, did he utter 
anything that was intelligible. He muttered, 
at times, for hours together, but nothing could 
be understood, thoucfh his nurses listened 

163 


A Mistaken Identity. 


163 


breathlessly for a few words that would tell 
them of the events that lead up to his injury. 
Not a word could be made out, and never once 
in his delirium did he utter the names of either 
of his friends, nor yet that of his young bride, 
who seemed to listen more eagerly than the 
rest of them for a whisper of her name, to 
show that she was not forgotten, even in the 
derangement of his brain. 

As for Eloise, she assisted as best she could 
in the cares of the sick room, her patient face 
showing little trace of the deep heart-sorrow 
that was her secret misery. She would be to 
him all that she could while he was out of his 
head, when he could not surprise her secret at 
some unguarded moment. When he came to 
himself, she would keep more in the back- 
ground, and begin anew the task of learning 
to forget him, in the light he had alwa^^s 
appeared to her. Sometimes, as she watched 
by his side, during the long afternoon hours, a 
great wave of feeling would come over her at 
sight of his utter helplessness and her own 
duty, which forbade her from pressing her 
lips to the white brow — as she was often 
tempted to do— in a mute caxxss. 


164 


A Mistakkn Identity. 


But all things must have an ending some 
time, and gradually the sick man grew 
stronger, so much so that his physician was 
of the opinion that by . the next day he should 
be able to speak for himself; for there was 
every evidence of the struggle of mind over 
matter that showed itself in various nerv- 
ous turnings of the head, and an attempt 
for an instant, at times, to open the eyes, and 
look about. Attempts which, so far, had 
resulted only in their being closed again, while 
a weary sigh escaped from the breast of the 
sick man. 

So for the next day, some of the old hands 
from Delside, were asked over to the house. 
The old nurse who had tended him, while an 
infant ; the black, who had first taught him to 
mount a pony, and all the familiar faces from 
his own home, that now was left to the care 
of his servants, until he should bring a mistress 
there to take command. 

‘‘All these preparations may be surperflu- 
ous,” said Dr. Mitchell, in explanation, “yet 
there should be every effort made to meet the 
returning spark of reason by a few reminders 
of his past life. The faces gathered together 


A MiSI'aKKM iDKN'riTV. 


16 o 


here will cause the past to come before him 
with vivid distinctness, and in that way we 
will save the mind, as we have saved the body. 
There, there ! now,” he continued, as Eloise 
began to show evidence of tears, ‘‘don’t bor- 
row trouble, for I expect him to come out of 
it, bright as a trivitt and as healthy as a fish.” 

“ Oh ! doctor ! ” said Ruth, appealingly, while 
Roger linked his arm in that of his daughter, 
and lead her away to his old seat on the 
veranda down stairs, “you do not fear for 
his reason, do you ? He will not be — be — ^lack- 
ing, mentally? ” 

“My dear young lady,” said the kind 
Scotchman, after a moment’s thought. “I 
will not deceive you in the least in this matter. 
Your husband will return to perfect health, 
but I do fear that it may be some time before 
his brain is strong again. Now, do not put 
on that thoroughly awful expression. There 
will not, I think, be anything uncanny about 
the boy. His brain will be a little weak, and 
must not be taxed too hard at first, but there 
will be nothing that time will not efface, and 
as the nervous system becomes stronger, the 
brain will assume its normal condition the 


IGG A Mistaken Identity. 

more rapidly, and soon he will be as well as 
ever. 

“Will that take long? 

“It will depend entirely upon cireumstances, 
and it may be that I am borrowing trouble. 
The young man’s brain has been subjected to 
great abuse, but it may be that he will show 
little signs of the fact. Be brave, and wait.” 

“Ah, but, doctor, you must see that this 
may place me in a fearfully uncomfortable po- 
sition. I am his wife, and should he fail to 
remember me at once, how every one will al- 
most pity me. They will look upon me in the 
same manner, as though I had been unable to 
hold my husband’s love.” 

“My dear young ladA^ 3^ou put it in alto- 
gether a wrong light. No one will imagine, 
for a moment, any such construction. You 
are over-sensitive, and I will feel compelled to 
scold 3^011 for such feelings, if 3^ou insist upon 
allowing them to dwell in your mind for an 
instant. Now put on your sweetest face, for 
here come some of the people that we have 
sent for.” 

“Bear with me, kind friend,” she said, brush- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


167 


ing away a silent tear, that sparkled on 
her dark lashes, ‘‘and I will do as yon say/^ 

She stepped to the door as the visitors ap- 
proaehed. Roger and his daughter preceded 
them, and then followed the people from 
Henry’s plantation. There was Aunt Kitty, 
as fat and as round as a pumpkin, half again 
as heavy as when she tossed the baby Henry 
in her arms. Then came G^sar, the power- 
ful stable man who was still, in his old age, 
better able to break a fractious colt than 
many another, and these were followed by 
three more of his people with whom he should 
be the most familiar. 

“Clar to goodness, Massa Doctah Mitch’l,” 
said the old nurse, tipping her massive body 
from side to side, as she made her way to the 
side of the sick man, “ wha’ foh yo’ try foh to 
do to de po’ boy ? De sojers hab done gone 
did foh him shuah.” 

“Not quite, aunty,” said Roger, good- 
naturedly, “there is plenty of life, aye, and 
plenty of fight left in him yet.” 

Caesar and the rest of the party from Delside 
stood on one side of the bed, gazing for the 
first time since his injury, upon their young 


168 


A Mistaken Identity. 


master, who lay there pale and still, but yet 
breathing regularly, and more lifelike than at 
any previous time. Aunt Kitty, her arms 
akimbo and her head thrown back, gazed at 
him long and silently. He was so changed as 
to actually startle her into sil^ce. She looked 
at him fixedly and in a puzzled manner, then 
she pulled Caesar by the sleeve, and whispered 
in his ear. 

‘‘Look hyah, Caesah,’^ she said, “dat am 
Massa Henry, shuah ’nough, am it? 

“Shuah, honey. Dey am no doubt ^bout 
dat. Lo’d lub him, I done know de boy like 
my own chile, an’ he was de brave one, jes’ 
like his fathah.” 

“Doan yo’ ’membah bout how I used to tell 
you bout how I feah’d foh dat boy ob mine, 
cause he hab a mole undah his lef ’ eah ? ” 

“’Deed I do,” and Caesar’s eyes began to 
open a little wider, for the colored race is, and 
was ever influenced by mystery and supersti- 
tion. 

“Now look hyah, Caesah. Yoah e3^es is fah 
bettah to see dan mine. Look undah de lef 
eah, now honey, foh me, jes’ whar de big cu’l 


Mistaken Identity. 


169 


ob ha^h (hair) lies back on de pillow. Do— do 
yo^ see dat mole dar, Caesah ? 

‘‘No, I doan, honey, said Caesar, in a scared 
whisper. “ It am gone foh shiiah. Maybe yo’ 
is mistaken bout de side.” 

“No, I isn’t. Dey ’s somethin’ bad ole man. 
De debbil hab done gone put his cloben hoofs 
’bout dis brisiness, yo’ heah me, chile! ” 

The two old black people looked at each 
other in a scared way, and drew closer to- 
gether as a supernatural fear crept over them. 
They, with the others of their race, believed 
almost in a personification of the evil one, 
who went about at all times and seasons med- 
dling in other people’s affairs, and doing such 
mischief as he saw fit. One of the old super- 
stitions was that a mole of any proportions, 
if situated under the left ear, was a mark of 
the evil one, for some purpose or other, and 
that it was now gone from their master was, 
to them, a sure sign that the prince of darkness 
had been present and taken back his sign. 
Little time was left them for speculation, how- 
ever, for the doctor stepped to the little side 
table and carefully mixed a drug in a wine 
glass. Into this he dropped two tiny drops 


170 


A Mistaken Identity. 


from a small vial, and, filling a spoon with the 
mixture, stepped to the bedside. 

“All stand where he ean see you at onee, 
when he opens his eyes,” said he, pausing fora 
moment. 

They arranged themselves so as to be in a 
direct line with the patient’s line of vision, 
and waited with beating hearts, while the 
doctor forced open the young man’s teeth and 
poured the contents of the spoon over his 
tongue. For a moment the mixture was re- 
tained there, then the throat moved as it was 
swallowed, seemingly with great difficulty. 
The drug must have been powerful, for the ef- 
fect was noticed in a few moments. He turned 
over on his back, and moved his arms rest- 
lessly, drawing them from under the cover- 
ings, and throwing them over his breast, 
where the poor white fingers seemed almost 
transparent. 

His breath came in longer gasps, and his 
chest rose and fell as if a mighty force was be- 
hind it, then a heavy sigh trembled from his 
lips. There were a few convulsive contrac- 
tions of the muscles of the forehead, the brows 
twitched, the eyelids quivered, the lashes 


A Mistaken Identity. 


171 


raised themselves from the cheeks once, twice, 
and then the eyes opened themselves to the 
subdued light of the room. At first the light 
seemed to effect them, and it was a few mo- 
ments before they fixed themselves upon any 
object. Then they slowly moved about from 
one to the other of the faces about him. He 
looked at Ruth a moment, then his gaze rested 
upon the face of Eloise, and dwelt there for a 
moment intently, while a deep flush mantled 
her face, and her small hand, that lay upon her 
father’s arm, trembled slightly. He looked at 
everyone in turn, then back again to Eloise. 

The eye is clear,” whispered the doctor to 
Roger, gleefully rubbing his hands. “The 
brain is safe, for there is not the least trace of 
mental derangement. 

“Wait,” whispered back Roger, nervously. 

The lips of the patient seemed to struggle 
in an effort to speak, but the words were not 
intelligible. 

“Speak to him, Aunt Kitty,” said Mitchell, 
quickly. 

“Bress de Lo’d! yo’ is back again to us all, 
Massa Henry,” said the old nurse, with a sob. 

Ruth, unable to contain herself longer, fell 


172 


A Mistaken IdentitV. 


on her knees by the bedside and, clasping her 
hands, sobbed, convulsiYely. 

‘^Compose yourself, my dear,’’ said the doc- 
tor, “all depends upon our actions.” 

“Oh! Henry,” she cried, “my husband, that 
they have tried to tear from me, speak to us, 
and let us know that we indeed have you with 
us once more.” 

The sick man fastened a look of surprise 
upon her; his lips moved, feebly at first, then 
more strong, and the words came like a long, 
dreary sigh : 

^ ‘ I—d o—n o t—kn o w—yo n .^ ” 

There was an awful silence, broken only 
by the heavy breathing of the sick man, then 
Ruth, with an agonized cry, fell to the floor in 
a swoon. The strain had been too great. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A LIVING LIE. 

Two da3"S had passed. Two long weary 
days, in which the young man in the silent 
room up stairs, grew rapidly stronger, so rap- 
idly, in fact, that it was certain little over a 
week would pass before he might be able to 
leave his bed and venture out, even on to the 
veranda, beneath the spreading branches, 
when the days should be pleasant. He spoke 
very little during his convalescence, calling 
only for what he required at intervals, and 
then rather hesitatingly, as if not quite sure 
of his words, a state of things which seemed 
almost pitiful. That a strong man should lie 
weak and helpless was bad enough, but that 
he should be forced to struggle for his words, 
like the veriest infant, was enough to bring 
tears to the eyes of those who loved him. 

After the startling announcement at his re- 
covery, in which, in which it was shown 
that he did not remember one of them, and as 

173 I 


174 


A Mistaken Identity. 


he was well enough to be practically out of 
danger, he was left to the charge of Aunt Kittie 
and Caesar, who took the best of care of him, 
their kind old hearts almost filled with tears 
at his attempts at conversation. The two 
were even now sitting in the window-seat at 
the open window, while Roger and Dr. Mitchell 
conversed in low tones, enjoying the smoking 
of their long pipes the while. Ruth and Eloise 
were seated beneath their favorite tree, glanc- 
ing, now and then toward the upper window, 
as if their talk was upon the subject nearest 
their hearts. 

You were saying — ” ventured Roger, seek- 
ing to resume a conversation that had been 
interrupted by a call from Henry to his nurses, 
^‘that it were better to keep him in ignorance 
of everything. The result of his wound has 
been very peculiar, for while it appears to 
have left him perfectly rational, memory has 
gone completely. He can speak only from 
force of habit, so strong that the words almost 
frame them selves . ” 

^Hs it possible to forget speech ? 

“Certainly. Everything requires constant 
practice in order to retain it fully in the mem- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


175 


ory. A man in solitary confinement for many 
years, who hears no words spoken during all 
the time, will eventually forget language. 
With our young friend, it has followed the loss 
of memory, that his utterance is halting, and 
it will take some little time for him to regain 
his former freedom of speech. In the meantime, 
memory may be brought to him by a sudden 
shock, some great happiness, or the sudden 
return of some former feeling, that has filled 
his past. Do you see my drift? 
cannot say that I do.’^ 

Humph! it is simple enough. In the first 
place, never let him know that Ruth is his 
wife. Tell him all the rest just as it is, for it 
will all be news to him, and let him have his 
own way in everything. Whatever has filled 
his heart before, will do so again, for that is 
still the same. He will, of course, fall in love 
with Ruth — there is the key to the whole mys- 
tery. Do you see now? 

^‘No. You are still obtuse.’^ 

Dull— just a little dull, Mr. Fuller. Don’t 
you see that as this love gradually fills his 
heart, it will open the past before him. 
Then there will be the repetition of his 


17G 


A Mistaken Identity. 


former passion. Finally lie will recognize 
it, and he will begin to wonder and think, 
until the whole past will itnfold before him, as 
clear as an open book.’^ 

‘^Mitchell ! exclaimed Roger, excitedly, slap- 
ping his hand heavily tip on the knee of the 
little doctor, to enforce the expression, ‘^you 
are an angel of physic.” 

“Oh ! you see now, do you? Well, I don’t 
know about the angel part, for I think that 
Mistress Ruth will assume that character in 
the case at hand. Meantime, there are the 
ladies, and there is no time like the present in 
which to make all the preparations for the 
great coup.” 

And that was the beginning of the end. The 
prime cause for weeks of suffering, such as 
could only be felt by the deep, true and tender 
heart that beat in the bosom of patient, suffer- 
ing Eloise, and was none the less great to the 
poor wife — the loving, though more fiery Ruth. 
Could any one have had the temerity to tell 
the two loving cousins that the day would 
ever come when they would have a seri- 
ous quarrel, they would have been laughed to 
scorn ; yet the potency of love is beyond con- 


A AIistaken Identity. 


ception, and the workings of the heart when 
filled and swa^^ed by jealousy, is beyond con- 
ception. The future was before them, and 
close about was fate weaving its meshes, and 
entangling all in the snarl. 

The doctor’s plan was followed out to the 
letter. Henry learned the main points, as to 
his identity and those about him from the 
two blacks, who nursed their young master 
with the tendere'st eare. Often each day, Ruth 
and Eloise came in to see him for a time, and 
talk with him, but for the latter it was a fear- 
ful effort, and one that was wearing upon her. 
Often his eyes would seek hers, unperceived by 
Ruth, and there seemed to be a light in them 
that caused her to pale to the roots of her 
hair. A vague, indefinite something that 
almost seemed to thrill her whole being with 
happiness, and then leave a dull sickening 
dread as of an unspoken evil, came over her, 
until she grew weary with the deep sense of 
unrest. 

Ruth also had her cross to bear. Her hus- 
band was back with her, and growing in 
strength daily, yet she must remain as nothing 
to him. Wife only in name, she, must wear a 


178 


A Mistaken Identity. 


mask, and meet him with little pleasantries, 
as if he was nothing to her. Often as she had 
gone to her own room, she would burst into a 
flood of tears, and pray that the end might 
come soon; that his memory might return, 
for she felt that she was not equal to the task 
of keeping up aiDpearances for long. 

Then came a slight relief. Henry was able 
to be about a little, and it was thought best 
to have him taken home to Delside where he 
would be under the influence of old associa- 
tions. He took leave of them one day, there- 
fore, as the whole family stood upon the 
veranda to see them ofl*, and thanked them, 
with almost tears in his voice for their kind- 
ness to him. 

‘‘I was little else than a stranger, he said, 
the tears springing to the handsome dark 
eyes, about which the deep rings still showed, 
from his sickness, “and you took me, and 
saved my life, giving me the tenderest care. I 
shall never forget it, and my great care in the 
future shall be, to in some slight measure re- 
pay the debt I owe you.” 

“Pray do not speak of it, my young friend,” 
said Roger, cordially, “for we owe you more 


A Mistaken Identity. 


179 


than that in the past, which you have for- 
gotten.^^ 

A shadow passed over Henryks face, for he 
was sensitive to his infirmity of mind. He 
shook hands with them all, giving Ruth’s 
fingers a friendly clasp, to which she bravely 
made no sign, and reserved his last touch for 
the hand of Eloise, which he gave a gentle 
pressure, accompanied by a tender look, that 
made her heart beat rapidly, though her face 
only showed a shade deeper of paleness. Then 
Caesar lead him to the old lumbering country 
vehicle in waiting, and he waved them a feeble 
adieu as it rumbled up the road toward his 
own plantation. 

For a time, the old quiet settled down upon 
the Fuller homestead. Little news came to 
them of the fortunes of the struggle for Inde- 
pendence, and none at all of Walter. Whether 
that young man was enjoying the excitements 
of the struggle with his customary dash ; 
whether he was a prisoner as Henry had been, 
in the hands of the enemy, or whether a Brit- 
ish bullet had laid low his powerful frame, 
were still matters for conjecture, though the 
proud old father insisted that there was no 


180 


A Mistaken Identity. 


manner of question but what his son would 
escape with flying colors from the battles in 
which he participated. 

Soon, however, something happened to di- 
vert their thoughts, and brought excitement 
enough to at last two of the dwellers under 
the Fuller roof tree. It was not to be expected 
that Henry was to remain a convalescent for 
any great length of time, and, in fact, it was 
but a few weeks before he began to grow rest- 
less in his own home, and pine for the society 
of his friends. Then there was one face that 
haunted him every day, almost every hour. 
Many and many a time as he sat in silent 
meditation, again would arise before him a 
pale face with a wealth of fair hair, just as it 
looked when first he opened his eyes upon the 
world, and saw that heavenly being so near 
him. Of all the rest, he cared for but this, that 
he had seen the interest in her look, and he 
felt there was a bond between them that noth- 
ing could break. 

Nothing? How little he knew the compli- 
cation into which his heart was leading him. 
The brain had died, and found a new birth. 
Had the heart died, too ? Was he to love the 


A Mistaken Identity. 


181 


fair-liaired girl — who even now was suffering 
because of her own hopeless love — with a pavS- 
sion he had never felt for the girl he had wed- 
ded ? Unconsciously the plan adopted by kind 
little Doctor Mitchell had prepared an ab3^ss, 
that even now was yawning to receive the 
ashes of their broken lives — three bruised and 
shattered hearts. Where would it all end? 
Only time and the dim future could tell, for 
there was no one to warn them, no one to ex- 
tend a staying hand. The end must come. 

Henry began to ride over almost daily on 
his favorite horse, as soon as he became strong 
enough, and at such times, when the weather 
was fine, he would loll on the sward at the 
feet of the two girls, while they indulged in 
their little fancy work. Sometimes one or the 
other of them would read to him from their 
favorite books, and the days soon grew very 
pleasant to him, for when Ruth would read, 
he could look into the deep blue eyes of Eloise, 
and, though he saw that his look disquieted 
her, he felt that at heart it did not displease 
her. 

One afternoon they were gathered thus, and 
Ruth was reading to them from Romeo and 


182 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Juliet. He had been listening intently the 
while, as the girl’s face grew animated with 
the reading. Noi' had she selected the particu- 
lar subject carclessl3\ Perhaps such poeips of 
passion as that one would awaken the old 
love in his heart. She read with exquisite 
sweetness and expression, and Eloise was car- 
ried away with it, to such an extent that she 
dropped her work, and listened intently. Sud- 
denly their eyes met just at a thrilling passage 
in the tale, and, half unconsciously, the two 
hands came together while the reader was 
wrapped up in her task. Eloise blushed a 
deep crimson as his hand clasped hers, and 
then turned pale as she drew it away. She 
had pressed his, unconsciously, and that pres- 
sure had sent the blood leaping through his 
heart. In his mind she was his Juliet, his love, 
and she loved him. A little only, perhaps, but 
more, he felt, it would be in the future. 

Truly Ruth was teaching him to love, but at 
what cross purposes were they all working. She 
was giving a form and a voice to the presence 
that had been growing in his heart, and now 
he knew what love was, and knew that he 
felt it, for the fair girl who was near him. x 


A Mistaken Identity. 


183 


sweet glow seemed to come over him at the 
thought, and, as Ruth finished her reading, he 
sighed. 

sad end to a pretty tale,’’ he said, ‘‘it 
is not thus that I would have my love dream 
end — were I to have one.” 

“How, then?” asked Ruth, almost trem- 
bling. 

“There should be no cloud to mar my dar- 
ling’s brow; nothing keener than love and 
whispers of constancy to break her heart. 
When with each other, only would the world 
go ’round, and when apart, the hours seem 
ages ’till we met again. To end the story, the 
maturest age should come, while each year 
with the other, had only added to the bliss.” 

“How would you picture bliss ? One would 
think that you had loved.” 

A shadow passed over his face as he an- 
swered : 

.“I trust not. I should wish a love I might 
feel now to be my first.” 

Eloise gave him a quick glance. Their 
eyes met and she understood. 

While they spoke they did not notice a 
dark figure that had crept noiselessly from 


184 


A Mistaken Identity. 


tree to tree, now and then crouehing in the 
brush to coneeal itself from view, then erawl- 
ing forward until it had gained a position in a 
clump of bushes where it could see the group 
without being observed. Slowly the figure 
raised itself until it peered from over the tops 
of the concealing leaves, and disclosed the 
dark face of Ralph Pepper. He looked with 
greedy eyes upon the face of the reader, and 
fairly rubbed his hands delight. 

You’ll be mine yet, my beauty,” he mut- 
tered, ‘^wait, only wait.” 

Just then Henry raised upon his elbow and 
turned his face so that the concealed Tory 
could see its every feature. As he saw it. Pep- 
per bent his head forward earnestly, passed 
his hand over his eyes, and shuddered. 

‘‘It’s a ghost,” he muttered. “No, it isn’t, 
for he speaks. Good God! am I going crazy? 
No, no, it’s withcraft — it can’t be. I must 
make haste back to Charleston,” and the in- 
truder made his way back to the road as 
silently as he had come. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


AT danger’s brink. 

The little scene beneath the trees set Eloiseto 
thinking seriously. She began to foresee too 
plainly what the effect of Dr. Mitchell’s plan 
might be, and while the thought sent a glow 
of triumph to her heart, yet it was followed by 
almost a feeling of horror that made her trem- 
ble. She felt that her love made her weak. 
After Ruth’s wedding, she had begun to look 
upon Henry with a semi-indifference, and had 
felt that she was easily curing herself of that 
folly. Why was it then, that this love had 
sprung up anew in her heart, a thousand tim^^ 
more deep and absorbing than before? It was 
a question she could not answer td herself. 
The past seemed almost as much a dream to 
her as it was to Henry. This passion seemed 
to be a being of a new life, and it was felt for 
the husband of another. This state of things 
must cease, she felt, for she was not strong 
enough to bear it. 


185 


186 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Their two lives must be far apart. If he 
could never remember of his own accord that 
Ruth was his wife, it must be made known to 
him, and he must live out the fulfillment of his 
duty, even though this new being of his had 
wrapped itself up wholly in another, and that 
other herself. She felt now that this twice- 
born love was too strong for her, and that it 
would be impossible for her to put it aside as 
before. She must live out her life alone with 
her dear father to comfort her. Close to that 
kindl3^ heart she would find the solace that the 
world denied her, which must stand in lieu of 
lover, husband and all — ^for she knew she would 
never love again. Yet not once did her faith 
to Ruth waver. It was because she was fear- 
ful that some word might be spoken to her by 
him, which she should not hear, that she wished 
matters to be placed aright. Already even 
that look, that pressure of the hand, had been 
a treason. Nothing like that must occur again. 

^‘Ruth, dear,’^ she said to her cousin, that 
evening, ‘‘do you not think that it would be 
better to try some other plan with Henry? 

“Some other plan, repeated Ruth, looking 
up quickly from her needlework. “ How ? 


A Mistaken Identity. 


1&7 


‘‘I only thought/^ said Eloise, coloring, 
slightly, that he did not seem to be able to 
bring his mind any nearer to the past of his 
own accord, and as the doctor’s plan does not 
seem to progress well, I thought — ” 

^‘Thought what, dear?’^ 

‘‘I thought thatit would be better to tell him 
just how matters stood. That you were his 
wife.” 

Ruth paled a little before she answered. It 
was apparent that a struggle was going on 
within her, in which pride and love were striv- 
ing for the mastery. 

Let me think,” she said. 

^*0h! my dear,” exclaimed Eloise, flinging 
herself upon the lap of her cousin, and preying 
her fair cheek against the darker one, “I am 
sure it would all be for the best. When he 
looks upon you as his wife, the old love will 
come back again, just as strong as before. 
You must see that.” 

You are a dear little, vehement champion,” 
said Ruth, with a weary smile, “and I have no 
doubt you think that you are right, but I am 
of a different opinion.” 


188 


A Mistaken Identity. 


^^Oh, no! no! do not say that. It is your 
pride that speaks now.” 

“I think not, cousin. Listen: When a 
woman loves, she wishes all happiness to the 
man of her heart. His wishes are paramount. 
It is only the selfish ones who want all and 
give nothing. Henry forgets his past, his 
home, his friends, and even his love and his 
bride fail to bring back to him that spark 
of memory which binds him to the past. Why 
should I seek to force myself upon him because 
of a tie that has bound us only in the eyes of 
the world ; a mere form that has made us one, 
without that wedding of nature which is in 
reality the deep and binding tie, which naught 
but death should break. If one were to be sep- 
arate and distinct from the other, I should say 
that the latter was the more so. No, do not 
look shocked, for my opinions will live to be 
those of better people, and nobler minds than 
either yours or mine.” 

“But still, you are his wife.” 

“ His wife only to those who know, and they 
will never tell him. Let his life go on free as 
the air, unless he should, perchance, recall the 
past, and that I almost dread. Bend closer. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


189 


dearest Eloise, for I want to whisper to you. 
A dreadful feeling seems to have come over me, 
for I feel — HeaYen help me — that I do not love 
him as I ought. 

‘‘ Oh ! Ruth,’’ with a startled look. 

“It is the truth. There seems to be some- 
thing that is turning me against him. I do not 
seem to be learning to dislike him, but the old 
tenderness is gone. I have felt ashamed and 
angry with mj^self for allowing an infirmity 
that should only bind the one who loves and 
the dear one closer together, to make me waver 
in my affection; but love is a quality we cannot 
control, and will have its own sweet way.” 

“Darling, this is terrible ! ” 

“ Is it not ? ” said Ruth, with a sigh that was 
almost a groan. ^ ‘ Still, how can you wonder ? 
Have you not noticed how his sickness has 
changed him ? He is more dreamy. His very 
eyes seem larger, and his voice is changed ; not 
for the worse, I admit, but then it is a change. 
His walk, too ! Have you not noticed that it 
is not as it used to be. Oh ! there are a thou- 
sand little things which are so changed in him 
that it seems almost like asking me to love 
another man.” 


190 


A Mistaken Identity. 


^‘Rtith, dear, your sorrow is making you 
visionary, and your imagination leads you to 
dream in this manner.’^ 

^‘Eloise,” exclaimed Ruth, putting her fingers 
under her cousin’s chin, and raising the sweet 
face so that she could look into the clear eyes. 
^‘You have noticed it yourself. I have seen 
your eyes, as you looked at himy 

‘‘Perhaps I have,” answered Eloise, coloring 
deeply at the unintended thrust, “but not 
nearly as much as you paint the picture. 
There is a difference. Remember, he was very 
near death’s door.” 

“Yes, into the jaws of death, and death has 
not given me back the man I loved.” 

“Please, please, Ruth, do not let himbetold. 
It is the very best way, believe me, and you 
will love him again, just as of old . This feeling 
of yours is only fancy, after all. You must 
admit that such is the case.” 

Poor little swayed and almost broken blos- 
som. How it was struggling for itself. But 
Ruth would not listen to her sweet counsellor. 
Her mind was made up. She was his wife, 
yes, in all fact; but if she could prevent it he 
should tieyer be made aware of that fact, until 


A Mistaken Identity. 


191 


his own waking memory should tell him, and 
now, even that day she dreaded. So Eloise 
dropped the subjeet, feeling, with a sinking at 
the heart, that her troubles were to begin with 
the new battle against herself, and this she felt 
she could confide to no one. 

Of course, Henry would be coming again the 
next day; she felt it, and prepared to avoid 
him; so -taking a book for company, she 
walked out to the edge of the little brook, and 
wandered slowly up its mossy sides, far into 
the wooded slope. There was solitude beneath 
Nature’s canopy, and the birds were close con- 
fidants. To them she could whisper her secrets, 
and they would not publish them to the world, 
or if they did, it would be in a language all 
their own. 

She took her way to a favorite spot, where 
there was a little clearing, in which the sun 
did not penetrate, excepting duriug the middle 
of the day, and where a gnarled root offered 
a natural seat that was as easy as if fashioned 
by the hand of man. Here she rested and 
threw off her bonnet, while she breathed the 
cool, scented air of the forest. Often had she 
^nd Henr^ sought that spot, when they wer^ 


192 


A Mistaken Identity. 


playmates m youth, and there was the moss- 
grown rock, upon which he used to sit while 
they rested from some childish jaunt. How 
things had changed since then. She fell to ru- 
minating, and forgot the book, which had fall- 
en at her feet. She must have been dreaming 
for some time before she was aroused by the 
rustling of the leaves across the brook, and the 
crackling of the twigs from a heavy tread. 
She started up quickly, and caught her breath, 
for there, on the very edge of the rushing water 
was the man she had sought the solitude, to 
avoid. 

There was a glad light in his eyes and a smile 
on his lips as he looked across at her and shook 
his head,. mockingly. 

“Ah! truant,” he cried, “T have caught you 
at last.” 

“Take care,” she said, warningly, “ the stones 
are loose on the brook bed, and you will fall if 
you try to step across. Go back, and I will 
come home soon.” 

“Hadn’t you better come now?” he asked, 
with a happy little laugh. “You see, I’ve 
caught you.” 

“Not yet, sir. Now do go home,” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


193 


For answer he drew back a few steps, took 
a run and a spring that carried him over the 
raging brook, as lightly as a bird. After a 
while,” he said, in answer to her last question as 
he seated himself on the mossy stone, and 
picked up the neglected book. Then there was 
a silence for a few moments, while Eloise seated 
herself, and looked vexed as she pulled to pieces 
a wood blossom, and studiously avoided his 
gaze. 

“You are angry with me,” he said, deep con- 
trition in his voice. 

No answer, but the blossom suffered. 

“What a cosy nook you have found. You 
seem a veritable woodland queen, seated on 
your nature’s throne.” 

“Do not subjects obey their queen? ” 

“They should, certainly.” 

“I think I commanded you to go home.’’ 

His brow darkened for a moment, and then 
he arose to his feet, and looked down on her. 
She did not dare to meet his eyes for fear her 
resolution would fail her, or that he might 
read the deep gladness that was in her 
heart, in spite of all, to think tbat he had 
sought her out. 


194 


A Mistakhn Identity. 


“Since you seem really to wisli it, of course’ 
I can but obey/^ There was deep pain in his 
voice, but not the agony that was at her 
heart. 

“How did you find me out?” she said, 
being sore tempted to learn if he had really 
come to find her. She was a woman, and 
women love to be loved. 

“I missed you at the house, and Luce told^ 
me she had seen you take the brook path — I 
thought you would follow its course, for I 
have heard you say that you loved to hear 
the water as it gurgled over its pebbly bed, or 
rushed between the broken rocks. You see, I 
was right.” 

So he even remembered her very words. 
Ah ! he did love her. No matter what might 
come. No matter what she might suffer in 
the future, she would always remember that. 
He loved her. She must never let him breathe 
a whisper of it to her ears, or give her one 
endearing word, yet it was sweet to feel that 
she had his heart. 

“You will let me remain here with 3^011 a 
little while, will you not?” he asked, appeal- 
ingly. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


195 


had rather not. I came here to be alone 
— to think. Go back to Rnth/^ (almost an- 
grily she said this,) ^^she will amuse you. I 
have other things to think about.^^ 

course, if it is your wish,^’ he said, 
coldly, his fine lip curling, as if in scorn. “I 
will do as you say,” and he turned away with 
a grand tread, and made for the woods 
toward the house. As he left she raised her 
eyes, timidly, to gaze on his retreating figure. 
She almost half hoped that he would turn 
that she might see the dear face, but he kept 
straight on. A dreamy smile came to her 
face, and a deep flush to her cheek, as she fell 
into a sweet reverie. He loved her. She knew 
it as well as if he had spoken it in volumes ; as 
well as though he had declared it to her, with 
every vow of constancy that a lover gives. 
What cared she for the world. For the time, 
there alone in her little retreat, she would 
have her way, and love him if she wished, 
with no one to sslj her nay It was innocence 
itself. 

He was her very own. Her glance fell upon 
the book he had handed her, and a glow 
passed over her while her qjqs shone like stars. 


196 


A Mistaken Identity. 


His hand had touched it. In secret — as he 
had thought — his lips had lightly touehed it 
as he had handed it to her. With a quick 
movement she raised the volume to her lips 
and kissed it as he had done. 

“I love him — I love him,” she sighed. 

And the little brook laughed up into her 
face as it caught a few ra3^s of the sunlight 
that broke throughout the trees and seemed 
to gurgle back in comfort to her swelling- 
heart : He loves 3^011 — he loves you.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A BITTER WOOING. 

Eloise was always ratlier cold to liim after 
this, and Henry himself kept rather distant in 
his manner. He was offended at what he con- 
sidered her coldness, and could not forgive her 
for what he could not help but believe was 
but a little bit of coquetry. How different 
would have been his feelings had he known 
the truth. With what tender sorrow, then, 
would he have thought of her whom now he 
deemed so careless of the feelings of others. 
For a few days he kept away entirel}^ and 
while it was a relief to Eloise to have him ab- 
sent, still there was a lonesome feeling about 
the place that was hardly bearable. Then she 
felt how utterly her soul had gone out to this 
man, upon whom she could never have a 
claim, and for a time she would feel almost 
ashamed at the depth of affection that filled 
her heart. It was a thousand fold more in- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


im 

tense, more consuming than the love she had 
borne him before the misfortune had overtaken 
him. Before, she could go to her kind father, 
in her sorrow, as he had asked her to, but 
now, there was a shrinking within herself, 
that made her secretive. Why was it? Was 
her heart becoming guilty ? Was she thought- 
fully fostering this s^weet love, in place of try- 
ing to kill it at once, for nothing good could 
'Come of it. Then she would cover her face 
with her two small hands and weep bitter 
tears. Why, oh, why should she be so miser- 
able? She, who had never intentionally 
wronged even an insect ^in her whole young 
life. 

If there was only some one in whom she 
could confide it might lighten her sorrow, but 
there was no one, and she must bear it all 
alone, battling against him, and love, the 
while, for she knew that he would not give 
her up. She felt that her rebuff in the wood 
had not driven him from her, only for a spell, 
and he would return again, handsomer and 
more lovable than ever. Why cotild she not 
tell him how matters stood, in spite of the 
others ? Surely it would be best, knowing, as 


A Ail ST A KEN Identity. 


199 


she did, that his memory would never be re- 
claimed in the manner Dr. Mitchell had pointed 
out. And then Ruth was learning to forget 
her love for him. Oh! What a pity, what a 
fatalitj^, had been that hasty wedding. But 
for that, all would now be well. The maiden 
blushed to herself at the possibilities that arose 
at the thought. What, oh, what would be 
the end of it all ? 

In spite of her feeling that Henry would not 
remain long awa3", he failed to come, and she 
unconsciously drooped at his absence, while 
Ruth was supremely indifferent. She had 
apparently put him out of her life. He was 
nothing to her, and she now began to fear his 
return to the past, a state of things that 
would force her to assume the duties of a wife 
to one she did not love, a thing than which, 
to a true woman, nothing could be more terri- 
ble. She shut her white teeth firmly, and re- 
solved that if the time should come, she would 
tell him the state of her feelings, and refuse. 

Roger watched his daughter with an anxious 
eye. He noticed that she drooped, but he did 
not but half divine the cause. He had thought 
that she was forgetting that old heart-trouble 


200 


A Mistaken Identity. 


and had paid little attention to her of late. 
Now, however, he began to worry, and look 
for the canse. 

“ My little girl is too inactive,’’ he said to 
her one afternoon, “and I shall insist that she 
takes more exercise. The roses are leaving 
those dear cheeks, and we must bring them 
them back again. Here, Jim,” he called to the 
black who was raking the lawn in front of the 
house, “run and tell Sam to put the ladies’ 
saddle on Queen and lead her here. Now go, 
my child, and don 3^our riding gown, for you 
must go and get a bit of the forest air.” 

Eloise arose, dutifully. 

“Perhaps it will do me good,” she said. 
“Dear old papa; always thinking of his little 
girl, is he not? How proud she is of her old 
darling,” and she flung her arms about his 
neck for an instant, and then ran lightly up 
the stairs. After she left, Roger shook his 
head sadly, for a large tear glistened on his 
sleeve. 

“This will never do,” he said to himself, as 
he watched the little briny globule until it 
was absorbed by the cloth. “Tears are not 
what I wish to come to the life of my pet.” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


201 


Sam soon appeared, leading Queen, a 
glossy ehestnut sorrel animal, with a bright 
eye and intelligent head. She appeared a little 
restive, as Sam held her in front of the steps, 
waiting for his young mistress to appear. 
Roger eyed her with a eritieal eye. 

“She looks rather full of life, to-day, does 
she not, Sam? ” he asked. 

“She habn’t bin drib mueh, massa,’^ re- 
sponded Sam, from between the huge twin 
rows of ivories that adorned the large mouth. 
“She is boun’ to be all right after Miss Eloise 
ride her a bit.’^ 

Further eonversation was interrupted by 
the young lady herself, who appeared dressed 
for her ride. She patted her favorite animal 
affeetionately on the finely arehed neek, the 
intelligent beast giving a pleased whinny in 
answer, then, giving a foot to Sam, she sprang 
lightly into the saddle. 

“Good-by,^^ she called to them, waving her 
whip, and galloped into the road, where she 
soon disappeared from view behind the thick 
growth of trees. 

“She is better already,^’ mused Roger, after 
she had left. “How the sparkle came to her 


202 A AIist'aken Identii^y. 

eye, and the color to her cheek. I must get 
her into the saddle every day, for a time/^ 

Eloise galloped Queen for quite a distance at 
a smart pace, until the woods grew quite 
thick, and then she turned into a bridle path 
that lead between the trees, making a short 
cut to another highroad. This path led close 
to the retreat near the brook, where she had 
parted last with Henry, and she let the reins 
fall on the neck of the horse, and fell into a 
deep reverie. Queen knew the road well, hav- 
ing traveled it many times before with his 
mistress, and walked lazily until the gurgle of 
the brook was heard in the distance. Then 
she pricked up her ears, visions of her usual 
cooling drink of fresh spring water causing 
her to quicken her pace a little. 

Straight on went the little animal, until her 
forefeet were planted in the laughing, rushing 
water, and then the nostrils were buried deep 
in the brook, as the refreshing liquid was 
drawn down the pretty throat. The heart of 
the maiden beat fast, as the scene about her 
brought freshly to her mind the last time she 
had seen the one she loved so fondly. There 
was the very break in the bank of the little 


A Mistaken Identiti^. 


203 


brook, where his springing foot had broken 
loose the moss and rock. There was also the 
print of the foot where he had alighted after 
springing across. She reined Queen a little to 
one side, so that the hoofs would not oblit- 
erate the mark. There, too, was the rock 
upon which he had seated himself, when he 
had handed her the book, fresh kissed by his 
passionate lips. A deep sigh came from her 
heart, as she again saw him leave her with 
that white, stern face, when he had disap- 
peared in the spreading leaves, without once 
looking back. How her coldness must have 
hurt him. 

Unable to bear it longer, she wheeled her 
steed about, and retraced her way to the high- 
road. Here she allowed the little animal to 
have her own way, and Queen walked slowly 
along, pausing now and then to snatch a bite 
at a tempting branch of tender young leaves 
that hung within easy reach. Busy with her 
thoughts, she took little heed that her horse 
had stopped beneath some succulent under- 
brush. Lost in her dreams, Eloise little knew 
the danger that lurked above her, a danger 
that seemed terrible and certain . On the thick 


204 


A Mistaken Idenittv. 


limb overhead, hidden by the closely growing 
leaves, crouched a long dark body, that clung 
closely to the bark. The thick muscular neck 
seemed to swell with a fierce passion, and the 
rounded ears, lay closely drawn to the fur of 
the quivering brute. 

Why did it not launch itself upon its prey? 
Unsuspecting, the girl allowed the horse to 
feed in silence, and it was probably to this 
very quietude that she owed her safety. 
Should she make an attempt to move, there 
was little dcubt that the animal would spring 
upon her and bury its cruel claws in her ten- 
der flesh. Just below the spot, the road took 
a sudden turn, and in that direction came the 
quiet sound of the hoofs of a horse upon the 
soft road. The rider was approaching leisurely, 
at a walk. The brute overhead heard the 
sound, for its tail quivered nervously. It did 
not change its position, nor even glance in the 
direction, but it was evident that the beast 
did not intend to lose its prey. Still it waited, 
evidently thinking there was time enough. 

The horseman turned the bend in the road, 
and the eyes of Eloise and Henry met for an 
instant. Her face flushed, and she trembled in 


A Mistaken Identity. 


205 


her saddle. He turned deathly pale, and she 
pitied him ; but she was not aware of the cause 
of his pallor, which was terrible to behold. 
He had seen what she had not, the dark form 
over her head, which now raised itself slowly 
upon its haunches, and concentrated its mus- 
cles until they stood out like whip cords. 
Henry’s heart stood still, then he gave his 
horse a mighty lash with his whip, and a yell 
of rage broke from him, while the huge black 
animal, he rode, plunged forward with a snort, 
and tore up the road. 

Little Queen threw up her head, frightened 
at the 3^ell, and shied toward the tree, wheel- 
ing about at the same time, and then down, 
like a dark streak, came the body of the spring- 
ing beast, just a second too late, for one of its 
sharp claws just tore away part of the flcwsh • 
at the root of Queen’s tail, and the heavy 
black hunter Henry rode went over the disap- 
pointed beast like a flash, striking it with a 
hoof and rolling it over in the dust, while the 
two horses fairly flew up the road. 

The heart of the girl seemed to fly up in her 
throat, and choke her as the consciousness of 
her averted danger came to her. She reeled in 


206 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the saddle for a moment, until it seemed as 
though she must lose her balance and be 
crushed against the earth. She was a superb 
horsewoman, however, and retained her seat, 
at the same time attempting to check her 
steed, which fairly flew over the ground, 
speeding the tree trunks by until she seemed 
almost dizzy. Then she learned for the first 
time that Queen was running away with her. 
Shutting her teeth firmly, she held the reins 
tightly, and resolved to ride it out. She knew 
that she could do so, unless her horse took a 
notion to. bolt into the woods. Then, indeed, 
would she be lost, for the trunks and branches 
would sweep her from the saddle. 

Behind her came the beating of the ponder- 
ous hoofs of the black hunter, giving hard 
chase, with love and determination upon his 
back. 

‘^Hold fast!’^ came the call to her in the 
loved voice, and I fll soon catch you.’’ 

She did not answer, but proved her claim to 
good horsemanship by sitting as erect as a 
statue. The race kept up, with Henry some- 
times gaining a little, sometimes losing ground.. 
At last the animal showed signs of fatigue by 


A Mistaken Identity. 


207 


lagging slightly, when the huge hunter, to 
whom Henry’s weight was as a feather, gained 
rapidly. Urging him still more, the noble 
animal ran alongside of the frightened mare, 
and kept there. 

Ouiek now,” cried Henry, bending and pass- 
ing his arm about her waist. “Loosen your 
foot from the stirrup. Now!” and with a 
quick effort, he snatched her from the saddle. 
Queen sprung from under her like a shot, and, 
released from the weight, soon disappeared in 
advance. Gradually Henry checked the speed 
of his noble animal, which he turned, allowing 
it to walk for a spell. When he had lifted 
Eloise from her seat, he had seated her before 
him, keeping one arm about her waist to sup- 
port her. Now he noticed that she was very 
pale, and the lids had dropped over the glori- 
ous eyes while the fair head was rested 
against his breast. Slowly he bent his head 
until his trembling lips rested lightly upon the 
loved head, so light that she could hardly feel 
them, yet her heart told her what he had 
done, and a flush came to her pale face, while 
the eyes opened. 


208 


A Mistaken Identity. 


You must not/’ she gasped. Respect my 
enforced position.” 

will,” he said, abruptly. 

You are not angry ? ” after a few moments 
of silence. 

. “ Oh, no ! ” a little wearily. 

“I have forgotten to thank you. You have’ 
saved my life. I feel, I know it ! ” 

“Thank chance, rather. It was but our 
own good luck that the beast missed his aim. 
Say no more about it. You will feel better 
when it is forgotten.” 

“I shall never forget it,” with a little shud- 
der. 

“ Are you quite comfortable ? ” 

“Yes, very — that is, I am riding quite 
easy.” 

“I understand,” this very bitterly. 

There was silence between them for a time, 
then he spoke again : 

“I think we had better go in by the stables. 
I will set you down there, and we can walk to 
the house. They would be less startled.” 

“You know best,” she said, simply. 

“I would that you thought I knew best in 
all things,” he answered, passionately. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


209 


He longed to tell her of his love, this beauti- 
ful being that he held so close in his arms, near 
his throbbing heart, yet he steeled himself 
against the temptation. He would not give 
her the opportunity of saying that he had 
taken advantage of their position. So noth- 
ing more was said. He dared not trust him- 
self to speak, and she feared her own weak- 
ness. The pressure of his arm, and the wild 
beating of her heart moved her inwardly. She 
longed to fling her arms about him, and tell 
him how dear he was to her. Would the sus- 
pense never end ? 

He walked with her from the stables, and 
into the drawing room. She felt his eyes upon 
her, though her own were cast down. She 
sank into a seat, and he stood before her. 
She felt that the blow was about to fall, yet 
was powerless to avert it. Her brave spirit 
had given way at last. Well, let the worst 
come. She was tired of battling, weary o 
warring with her own heart. 

He stood before her gazing down upon the 
girl he loved, who sat before him with bent 
head, her clasped hands trembling violently. 

You know what I am going to say ? 


210 


A Mistaken Identiiy. 


Yes, oil, yes,” wearily. 

^‘Tliat I love you. That since I first opened 
my e3"es upon what little I knew of this big, 
beautiful world, your face has been to me 
more than the world itself. In it have I read 
my light, my life, my future. The world is, or 
is not, just as you make it for me. Tell me, 
do you love me? ” 

She arose impulsively, all her soul in her 
eyes, and his flashed joyously as he saw the 
look. She put up her hands to ward him off, 
as . he Would have sprung toward her. A 
shadow passed over his face. 

‘^It is my duty to tell you,” she began, in an 
unsteady, weary, broken little voice, out of 
which all the life had gone, “that no matter 
what my feelings may be in this, or — or yours, 
there is something stronger, which must regu- 
late the actions of both.” 

“And what may that be? ” he asked, a little 
coldly. 

“Let me answer,” said a calm voice, as Ruth 
stepped into the room from the veranda. 
“You will pardon, I think, the fact that I 
have overheard you, in a confession that or- 
dinarily might bring a little shame to ope in 


A Mistaken Identity, 


211 


my position, yet, at present, on account of my 
utter indifference, does not.’^ 

‘^Wliat is this mystery that I see in your 
faces? Out with it at once, please, and let 
us have done with enigmas.’^ 

^‘That quality which Eloise refers to,” said 
Ruth, firmly, placing an arm about the trem- 
bling girl to support her, ‘‘is duty. In short, 
Henry Carter, you are my husband ! 

“My God! ” That was all, and a faint cry 
from Eloise, as he turned and staggered to- 
ward the door. Here he paused and turned, 
passing a hand in a bewildered manner over 
his brow. 

“Whatever you may say,” he cried, hoarsely, 
“there is some devil’s mischief in this. Heaven 
could not be so cruel. I tell you it is all false. 
Something here,” striking his breast, fiercely, 
“tells me that you are not my wife.^^ 

He gave a heartrending glance at Eloise, 
and strode from the room, and they saw him 
no more as a visitor for many days. 


CHAPTER XVIII, 


SOME OF Cupid’s capers. 

During the autumn of 1780, althcugh the 
British had suffered so greatly in the Caro- 
linas, that they were already making prepa- 
tions to abandon the province, the city of 
Charleston still remained in their possession, 
a point they had held ever since its capture by 
Clinton, on May 12th of the same year. Dur- 
ing the whole term of the ascendency of their 
arms in that portion of the country, they had 
been so harrassed by Marion, Sumpter and 
Pickens, those brave free lances, that life was 
almost a burden to them. Of Marion, Corn- 
wallis once wrote: ‘‘He has so wrought on 
the minds of the people, that there is scarcely 
an inhabitant between the Pedee and the 
Santee, that is not in arms against us.” Yet, 
the British held tenaciously to Charlston, 
Savannah and Wilmington. In the former 
city, with the exception of the Tories, who 

21S 


A Mistaken Identity. 


213 


were in strong sympathy with the invaders, 
the inhabitants looked upon the armed hold- 
ers of the city with the deepest hatred, and 
often skirmishes were held between them in 
the open streets, mostly occurring after night- 
fall, when darkness made small ambushes 
more safe. 

The troops themselves were allowed more 
liberty than is usually accorded on such occa- 
sions, in consequence, and deeds of violence 
were often committed, and were prone to be 
winked at by a majority of the officers, while 
those who were more just, found it almost 
impossible to stem the tide of lawlessness, 
which seemed to increase rathet* than dimin- 
ish. Brawls were of nightly occurrence, and 
it was dangerous for a maiden of the city to 
venture out after nightfall, even when accom- 
panied by an escort, as she was almost certain 
to become the object for some indecent assault 
from one or more of the ribald soldiers. 

Into this hot-bed of hatred and passion, 
Walter Fuller had taken himself, in search of 
his friend. He had never for a moment for- 
gotten his promise to attempt a rescue; but 
duty had called him, immediately upon his 


214 


A Mistaken Identity. 


return to his troop, and he had been eompelled 
to put off his sehemes for a time, until the short 
eampaign mapped out for him and the troop, 
whieh he was obliged to eommand in Henry’s 
absence, was carried out. Henry was too 
valuable a man to be lost without some 
attempt at his recovery, so Walter was 
allowed to take the troop into the immediate 
vicinity of Charleston, and use such means as 
he saw fit toward the recapture of his captain. 

‘‘If you cannot get your hands upon him,” 
Marion had said, “then capture some of them, 
sufficiently high in station to admit of an 
exchange. Above all, be careful of yourself, 
for I could little afford to lose you both.” 

Walter had seen his troop in a safe posi- 
tion in the woods, where he could get them, 
should he need assistance, and made his way 
to the city, clad as a simple gentleman of 
leisure, save that a dagger lay hidden in his 
breast, and a pistol that had often proved his 
friend, was safely btickled where the broad 
skirts to his coat hid it from view. Then he 
began a practice of wandering about where he 
could meet parties of soldiers and overhear 
their conversation, trusting to luck that some 


A Mistaken Identity. '216 

of them would mention the subject nearest to 
his heart, and perhaps give him a clue as 
to where his friend was confined. Could he 
but find this out, he had little fear but what 
he would conceive a plan for the opening of 
the prison doors. 

Often he would wander about the outskirts 
of the city, and once even passed directly by 
the place in which Henry was confined, yet 
without knowing it. The autumn weather 
was beautiful, and had there been nothing on 
the young man^s mind, he would have taken 
pleasure in the rather lazy life he was leading, 
as being somewhat of a rest after the long 
campaign upon which he had been engaged. 

Passing one day through one of the streets, 
over which the trees nearly met in an arch, he 
was drawn by the beauty of a little cottage 
by the roadside. It was a simple little build- 
ing, that was made beautiful by running rose 
vines, which clung about the little portico, 
and were even forcing their way on to its 
roof. It was a cool spot, and Walter leaned 
against a tree and rested for a time. So far 
his search had availed him little, and he was 
beginning to despair. He fell to thinking 


216 


A Mistaken Identity. 


deeply and was aroused by the opening of a 
window in the little upper story of the cot- 
tage. He raised his eyes for a moment, and 
then forgot his thoughts, forgot Henry, and 
was almost lost to the world in the contem- 
plation of what he saw. Only a face at the 
window ; yet it was a face that was destined 
to fill his heart, for long, long after. 

It was a face that might have filled others 
with but a passing fancy, yet no man would 
have passed without giving an admiring look 
at its owner. As she flung open the sash she 
rested her hand upon the frame and looked 
out. Walter was so hidden from her that he 
had an ample opportunity to study her at his 
leisure. The sun’s rays lit up the pretty head, 
c /owned with its rich dark hair, the natural 
curls waving gently in the breeze that just 
stirred the leaves of the vines about her. The 
sweet face bore just the slightest tint of olive, 
the cheeks reddened by the glow of health 
seeming to have an ever varying tint. The 
forehead was low, but broad, the ears small 
and shell-like, and the throat, which was 
exposed by the soft lace that was worn about 
the neck, and fastened together at the belt. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


217 


was full and round. The arms were bare, and 
were round and tapering, clear to the wrists 
that were finished by a patrician hand with 
pink tipped fingers. The eyes seemed so full 
of expression as to be capable of a language 
all their own ; eyes that are seldom seen, but 
when once seen, are never forgotten. They 
were large, and the centers of the deepest hazel 
hue, the whites, occupying more of the orifice 
than is usual, being of a glossy white. They 
were eyes that could read to the soul, flash 
arrows of scorn, or swim in a sea of love’s 
tenderness; eyes that are supposed only to 
belong to the beauties of Circassia. 

For only an instant she stood thus, and 
then turned with a smile to greet some one 
who had just entered the room, some one who 
spoke in a pleasant voice, evidently the girl’s 
mother, so at least Walter thought, and who 
addressed her as Kate. He hardly heeded the 
words, so wrapped up was he in the vision 
before him. ‘‘Kate.” He had never tho* ght 
that the plain little name could be so sweet. 
‘ ‘ Kate. ’ ’ It was the prettiest name in the world, 
when coupled with the sweet vision before 


218 


A MisI'Aken Identity* 


him. Then he waited breathlessly to hear her 
Yoiee. 

“I eaniiot see why he does not return/^ he 
heard her say, “for he should have been here 
an hour ago.’^ 

The Yoiee with its musie, went straight to 
Walter’s heart, yet a pain went with it. 
“He,” who eould “He” be? He was jealous 
already. Perhaps it was her loYer, or more 
probably her husband. What a fool he was 
to mind it so. What was it to him? He 
laughed, a bitter little laugh, at his folly, and 
turned to go, angry with himself. Just then 
he saw a hand flash at the window, and some- 
thing fell outside, striking on the ground in 
the shade of the bushes. He hesitated for a 
moment, irresolute. She eould not see him; 
he must find what it was. He sprang to the 
object and picked it up. It was only a little 
bunch of faded roses, that she had thrown 
from the window, as being no longer of use. 
Yet there was something else, for a thorn in 
one of the stems had caught a slight, fleecy 
lace handkerchief, and carried it out with the 
discarded flowers. Walter appropriated it, 
inhaled the perfume that still clung about it, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


219 


and thrust it into his breast. He seleeted the 
freshest of the buds, and thrust the stem 
through the lace to the flowing lapel of 
his coat. 

He hurried away, feeling a little guilty, yet 
with a strange new feeling at his heart. This 
last act of hers had filled him with a vague 
hope. Surely, if the blossoms had been given 
her by a lover, or husband, she would not 
thus have discarded them. Consequently, she 
was a maiden, and to be wooed. And why 
should he not woo her? Others had found 
time during the war to win love with their 
fame. Why should he not add a conquest of 
ove to his conquests in battle? He shook his 
symmetrical, powerful frame together, and 
walked with head erect, and a new light in his 
eyes. He had resolved that love also should 
be his. 

Walter had little peace after this, for his 
heart had been deeply assailed. He would 
have been worse troubled, had he known that 
the lady of his newly awakened passion had 
been more observing than he had given her 
credit for She had missed her bit of lace in- 
stantly after it had been torn from her hand, 


220 


A Mistaken Identity. 


and had stepped to the window just in time to 
see the yonng man as he bent to pick up the 
discarded roses. With quick femininity she 
hid herself behind a curtain of lace at the side 
of the window, and watched his strange 
actions. She saw him raise the fabric to his 
lips, and she blushed hotly, angT3^ at his pre- 
sumption; then, as he arose, and she saw the 
handsome, almost Titanic head outlined 
against the deep green of the leaves, she was 
less incensed against him. Who could the 
handsome stranger be? She had never seen 
him about there before, and Kate Haven felt a 
new interest come to her, that gave her an in- 
terest in life which she had not felt for some 
time. 

But little success had attended her search 
for Percy. Captain Strong had learned for 
her, that he had been on board the ship that 
had sailed in advance of them, but here the 
search had ceased, for on shore little could be 
learned of him, except that he had accompa- 
nied some officers, and had gone on the march 
with some reinforcements sent out to assist 
the southern army. Where he was at that 
time they could not learn, so Kate had ac- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


221 


cepted their invitation to come and live with 
them in the little cottage which they had pro- 
cured to live in while the captain should re- 
main in Charleston, 

Between Kate and the couple a sincere af- 
fection had sprung up, and they looked upon 
the dear brave girl almost as a younger sister, 
an affection which she in turn gave to them 
both, with interest. Kate proved a wonder- 
ful help to them, and the two ladies were com- 
pany for each other. The girl’s fresh, high- 
bred beauty soon began to be noticed, and 
many were the young provincials who would 
have done much to bring a smile of recognition 
to her face, but she held aloof from them all, 
and soon became known as the British icicle, 
to the disappointed young men who failed to 
scrape up an acquaintance with her. All this 
was noticed by pretty Mrs. Strong, who often 
twitted her about her conquests, and had 
many a laugh over them with the jovial cap- 
tain. 

‘‘Take care, Kate,” she would say, “or you 
will lose your heart to some of these new 
world gallants.” 

“Not I,” would Kate answer, with a fine 


222 


A Mistaken Identity. 


curl of her Up. Gallants, indeed, with their 
dark faces and homespun garments.” 

Perhaps some faint memory of her answers 
came to her as she watehed Walter disappear 
up the road, and a faint flush came to deepen 
the roses on her cheeks. She was almost 
angry with herself for having given him a 
thought. He was probably some shopkeeper’s 
son, and a rebel of the most pronounced kind. 
She was hardly well enough up in the politics 
of the day to be able to state definitely what 
crime a rebel might be charged with, but she 
was certain that it must be something not far 
removed from the terrible. So she turned 
away from the window in fine scorn, and tried 
to forget all about it, but, try as she might, 
the vision of the young man with the head of 
a god, and the step of a hero, haunted her in a 
manner that was exasperating to a young 
lady of her well regulated mind. 

As for Walter, he haunted the street after 
that, and watched for another view of the vis- 
ion with indifferent success, for he could only 
feast his eyes upon the object of his adventure 
through the lace eurtains, which gave him but 
a feint outline of the form, and that only 


A Mistaken Identity. 


223 


when she drew near to them. The young lady 
herself was in a better position, for she could 
see outside quite plainly, and marked his anx- 
ious looks with varied feelings. What a stub- 
born young man it was, to hang about at all 
hours, and so quietly, too. At first, she was 
angry at his perserverance, then she began to 
pity him, and finally ended by wondering who 
he was. Of course it was unladylike to won- 
der, and she was blushing to herself as soon 
as the thought came. 

Matters might have gone on this way in- 
definitely had not something occurred to 
change the whole course of events ; an event 
which proved an adventure only to Walter, 
yet which niai^^^ the young man shine in her 
eyes as a veritable hero of the first magnitude. 

The young man was wandering aimlessly 
about the city one evening, thoroughly down 
on his luck, and only passing away the time 
until his eyes should grow weary with the 
want of rest, and warn him that it was time 
to retire, when his legs unconsciously lead 
him toward the shady lane and the vine-clad 
cottage. The moon was bright, and high in 
the heaycnSj so that the road had a ghostljr 


224 


A Mistaken Identity. 


appearance where the deep shadows of the 
trees lay in dark contrast to the brilliancy of 
the fields, and the reflection of the queen of 
night upon the sides and roofs of the few 
houses. A little in advance of him he noticed 
that two female forms were strolling along. 
They had been concealed by the shadows of 
the trees, but now they had passed into a 
bright spot, caused by the scarcity of over- 
hanging boughs, and could be plainly seen. 
Surely they were tempting fate to be out alone 
at that hour, for, though it was early, prowl- 
ing men might be about. 

The thought had hardly come to him when 
a dark form sprang quickly and silently from 
the opposite side of the road, followed by two 
more, and approached the two female figures. 
Walter quickened his pace as he saw the ladies 
pause and shrink closely together as if feeling 
that it would be useless to fly. The man in 
advance spoke some words in a low voice, the 
tone of which only reached Walter’s ears, yet 
at the same instant the taller of the two 
turned her face and looked in his direction. 
The moon lit up the pale startled features, and 
Walter’s heart gave a bound as he recognized 


A Mistaken Identity. 


225 


the fair being who had never for a moment 
been absent from his thoughts. She could not 
have seen him for he was as 3^et in the shadow, 
yet she seemed to appeal to him personally for 
aid. 

The two other ruffians had come up with 
the leader, who was exacting a kiss from the 
ladies by way of prelude. Then he reached 
out an arm to clutch hold of Kate, who shrunk 
from him with a little startled cry, then faced 
him boldly. 

^‘Oh! but you will suffer for this insult,^’ 
she cried, her nostrils dilating and the fine 
eyes blazing with fury. warn you that I 
never forget a face, and you will be sought 
and found on the morrow.” 

Fine speeches for night birds,” replied one 
of them, his companions laughing at his sally. 
‘‘But hadn’t you better let us three brave 
gents escort you to a pretty seat in the shade 
of the bushes, while we teach you — ” 

The sentence was never finished, for the 
avenger, armed with love and his giant 
strength, was upon them. Two of them were 
seized by the neck and their heads crashed to- 
gether with a force that seemed to crush thc^u, 


22G 


A Mistaken Identity. 


and they fell motionless to the earth as he let 
them go from that iron grasp. The other had 
attempted to fly, but Walter was too quick 
for him, and placing one hand at each side of 
his waist, raised him above his head, while the 
wretch begged for mercy, and, with all his 
power, flung him from him. The man flew 
from the grasp of those muscles of steel, and 
went crashing through the bushes that lined 
the road, where, after a moan or two, he lay 
quiet. 

The whole scene had been but the work- of 
an instant, but in that time Kate had recog- 
nized him, and her heart throbbed with pleas- 
ure. She saw the fearful strength of which he 
was master, and wondered that such shapely 
limbs and small hands could hold such force, 
and then, as he raised bis hat, showing the 
light curls and the flushed face, she fell to lov- 
ing him, and this time she was not ashamed 
of it. 

'‘Allow me to thank you, sir,’' said Mrs. 
Strong, in a voice that trembled slightly. 
“We owe you the deepest gratitude.” Then, 
as Kate only looked down, afraid to meet the 
ardent glance she felt upon her, she said, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


227 


‘‘Why on earth don’t you thank the young 
man, Kate, dear?” 

Then Kate had raised her eyes, and lifted 
them to his face, and in them he had read his 
thanks before they were spoken. 

“If gratitude can — ” she began. 

“I pray you, say nothing” said Walter, 
hastily, “but let me see 3^ou to your home at 
once.” 

They hurried down the road and were 
soon before the little cottage, where Mrs. 
Strong went directly in, after giving thanks 
once more, and asking the young man to call 
and see her husband, who would wish also to 
thank him for her again. 

Left alone with his adored one, for a few 
moments, Walter was at a loss for words. 
What could he say, except good-night, and 
then leave her? But she, with woman’s 
ready wit, opened a way. 

“I hope you have not killed those poor 
men,” she said, in a voice like a bird. 

“I hope I have quite! ” cried Walter, hotly, 
“the brutes.” 

“ Oh I how bloodthirsty you are ! ” 

“ How you wrong me I 


228 


A Mistaken Identity. 


‘‘ May I — may we not know the name of our 
preserver, so that we may thank him in our 
prayers? 

Think of me as Walter/^ said the young 
man, hesitatingly. He hated to give her a 
false name, and yet his surname must be un- 
known to her as yet. 

‘ ‘ W alter — wh at ? ^ * 

He flushed as her lips spoke his name, and 
the blush was reflected upon her face. By 
a sudden impulse he remembered a name 
belonging to a schoolfellow, and gave it: 
^‘Walter Bivis.” 

‘^Good-night, then — Mr. Bivis,’^ she said, 
sweetly, holding out her hand. Walter bent 
to kiss it, but she snatched it away, while a 
quick breath left her lips. “No, no,’’ she said, 
and ran toward the house. Here she paused 
to look back, and saw him dejected and sad. 
She flew back again, and held out her hand 
once more. Her love urged her on. She 
would let him know she had thought of him. 
He kissed the little fingers that trembled 
beneath his touch. 

“Now, sir — what have yon done with my 
7* OSes 


A Mistakkn Identity. 


229 


He looked tip guiltily, but she was gone 
like a flash. He watched her window until 
the light went out. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A DOUBLE DISCOYERY. 

Of course Walter availed himself of the 
invitation offered him to call upon the ladies, 
and the next day he could hardly curb his 
impatience, so filled was he vrith the desire to 
again look upon the sweet face, and hear the 
voice that Ihrilled him every time he heard its 
loved tones. For the time, at least, poor 
Henry was entirely forgotten, so filled was his 
young friend with his new experience. He did 
not stop to look ahead, and so the difficulties 
that must of necessity beset the path of his 
love. Even now, he was compelled to answer 
to an assumed name for fear his own might 
be recognized, and there were other difficulties, 
yet he did not seem to heed them. The pres- 
ent was sufficient for him. He had been 
allowed to see her. Chance had given him the 
opportunity to do her a service, and he had 
kissed her hand. While he waited for the time 


A Mistaken Identity. 


231 


to pass, he lived over again the scene, over 
and over again, in his thoughts, so sweet was 
the remembrance. 

How beautiful she was, and then she had 
noticed him before, else why that parting 
sentence about the roses. Her handkerchief, he 
felt, he must return; but he would never part 
with that faded little bud, that now lay 
neatly folded in a paper, worn near his heart. 
She had allowed him to, to kiss her hand. It 
must be that she thought well of him; that 
she had intended that he should hope, else 
why had she come back to him, like a contrite 
fairy, and given him that little hand ? Impa- 
tiently he awaited the afternoon, and then, 
when he thought it late enough, had left the 
door of his room, and taken his way, with a 
beating heart toward the little cottage that 
held his heart. 

Meanwhile, Kate had been filled with a 
vague feeling of unrest. She felt that she had 
been too forward toward the young man, and 
feared that he would have but a bad opinion 
of her in consequence. Then, too, her friend 
would not keep still about the occurrence of 
the night, and not satisfied with reciting it in 


232 


A Mistaken Identity. 


a tragic matiner to her husband, she must 
needs dwell upon it at great length before the 
young lady. ^ 

^‘What a splendid fellow he was, Kate, 
dear,^’ she rattled on. What a pity that you 
dislike all these provineials with such a deep 
hatred, for I am certain he would be such 
good company. So handsome, too. Why, he 
has the look of a Viking, with his blonde 
loeks.” 

‘^How you do rattle on,” answered Kate, 
annoyed at the reference to her hatred of 
provincials. “ Perhaps he may be a foreigner. 
Mayhap one of these same Vikings you are so 
fond of referring to.” 

^'Let ushope so,” with a little laugh, ‘‘for 
then there may be some ehance for the poor 
fellow; which he does not possess if a native.” 

“How you do talk. It is very probable that 
the 3^oung man cares little about us.” 

“Tut, tut, my bonny Kate. You know as 
well as I that the young fellow is madly in 
love with you.” 

“Not in the least, you sweet match-maker!” 
cried Kate, getting baek her sprightliness 
under the badinage. “What a pity your occu- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


233 


pation is gone since yon have arrived in 
America.’^ 

‘‘Never mind, you witch. I scent a battle, 
and will wager that we make a match before 
long, if not of hands, at least of hearts.’^ 

“ Your wager would be lost.^^ 

“That it would not. Ah! you think me 
blind, but I know a thing or two.^’ 

“Sh — here comes some one,’’ and Kate ran 
to the window with a flushed face. 

“Who is it, dear, knight errant?” 

“Will you be quiet? No, it’s the captain.” 

“Ah! the fairy princess is disappointed this 
time. Harry, my love, you are late again.” 

The happy captain strode into the room, 
kissed his pretty wife, and greeted Kate in a 
cheery voice : 

“Always late, eh — ^got here now because I 
couldn’t get here any later — detained by your 
affairs, though— so should have complete for- 
giveness.” 

Before any one could answer him, Kate’s 
quick ear had detected the sound of a step on 
the path, and she drew back from the window. 

“Some one is coming,” she said. 

“Some one!” cried Mrs. Strong, mockingly. 


234 


A Mistaken Identity. 


And she stepped to the door just as a some- 
what timid knock was heard upon the panel. 
She opened it, and admitted the young hero 
of the hour, who was introduced to the cap- 
tain by Kate, and was at once appropriated 
by him. 

^‘My young friend!’^ cried he, seizing his 
hand and shaking it cordially. “In a service 
such as 3"ou have done us, thanks are super- 
fluous. You are a gentleman, sir, and all that 
I can say is, that I am your debtor. When 
you need me, command me. It is a promise I 
give, to grant an3rthing I may be able to do 
for you in future.’^ 

“The thanks are mine, in being allowed to 
serve the ladies,^’ answered Walter, with a 
covert glance at the averted face of Kate. 

“I was just about, to tell the ladies,’^ said 
the captain, “that I succeeded in discovering 
the rascals, thanks to the one you threw into 
the bushes, and whose back, we find, was 
broken. He gave the names of the others, 
who we apprehended, with their skulls band- 
aged, and are confined in the guard house 
pending punishment. Young man, will you 
do an old soldier a favor ? 


A Mistaken Identity. 


235 


‘‘Right willingly/’ assented Walter. 

“Let me feel of your arm.’' 

Walter extended it, with a smile, while the 
officer examined it critically, pressing his 
fingers against the iron biceps. 

“I have seen many strong men in my time, 
but you teach me that appearances are de- 
ceitful — never would think it to look at you — 
am proud to have you for an acquaintance — 
in future, I hope, a friend.” 

“With all my heart! ” cried Walter, grasping 
his hand in a friendly clasp. 

Kate had listened to the conversation with 
pride in every line of her fair face. She felt 
that he almost belonged to her, and why 
should she not feel proud of him ? He was so 
superior to other men, so grand in his strength; 
so handsome withal. She joined but little in 
the conversation, much to the disappointment 
of the young man, and finally the captain 
arose, explaining that he had matters of im- 
portance to attend to. He left their young 
visitor, with a hearty shake of the hand, and 
went out the door, followed by his wife into 
the yard, and the two young people were left 
alone together. 


236 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Walter arose and stood over her chair, 
looking down at the bent head. 

“You asked me for your roses last night,” 
he said, softly. “Do you want me to return 
them?” 

“Have you them still?” she asked, not 
raising her head. 

“ Look for yourself.” 

She raised a flushed face, with the eyes 
shining like stars, to look at him. He thrust 
his hand into his bosom and drew out the 
little parcel. 

“I have treasured this near my heart, never 
dreaming that you were aware even of my ex- 
istence. It is yours, if you wish it, and I have 
no right to keep it, against your wish.” 

She put out her hand mechanically, and took 
the faded, dry little bud in her palm. So he 
had kept this little token to remind him of her, 
even when he had but seen her. Surely he 
must care for her very dearly. Then she fell 
to thinking of the short time she had known 
him, and how completely he had filled her 
thoughts. It was sweet to dream thus. 

“You do not answer,” he said, sadly. 

“Do you wish very much to keep it?” she 


A Mistaken Identity. 


237 


asked, softly, touching it to her face to see if 
the perfume had all left it. 

‘^It is all I have, except this,’^ he said, drop- 
ping the filmy little lace handkerchief upon her 
lap. 

“Will you let me keep it, if I promise to give 
3’ ou something better ? 

“Yes, if 3"ou will, but it has become very 
dear to me.” 

He was emboldened by the expression of 
her face, which showed that she was dis- 
turbed ; that something almost stronger than 
herself was prompting her actions. She trem- 
bled visibly, not daring to look him in the 
face, and then the pink fingers went to her 
neck and unclasped a tin3^ golden chain, which 
she drew from where it had laid beneath the 
lace, only partly concealed. Hanging to this 
was an old-fashioned locket, curiously wrought 
upon its surface. She looked at it dreamily for 
a moment, and then offered it to him. 

“Promise me that you will not open it until 
3"ou are alone,” she said. 

“I promise,” said he, eagerly. ‘‘Nothing 
will be too great for me to dare for you in 


238 


A Mistaken Identity. 


return for this little gift, which I shall treasure 
until my last day.’’ 

He thrust the trinket in his bosom, and 
gazed with all his soul in his e3^es at the giver, 
who still fumbled with the faded blossom. 

fear j^ou have made a poor exchange,” 
he said. 

^^If so, it is a bargain of my own making,” 
she answered, and with a little conscious 
blush, she placed the poor dry rose, where the 
locket had lain, next to her pure, fair flesh. 

Walter’s e3^es sparkled, and he bent over her, 
taking her hand in his, and almost touching 
her hair with his lips, from which his breath 
came in that peculiar manner indicative of 
suppressed passion. She felt the close pres- 
ence, and raised her head to look into his eyes. 
As she did so their lips nearly t uched, and 
with an effort she calmed herself and met his 
gaze unflinchingly. His head .warn and his 
eyes looked through a mist, but he heard her 
voice, almost in a whisper : 

‘Oh! pra3% pray be calm. If I have been 
unmaidenly in my weakness, you, in your 
strength, should protect me from yourself.” 

He was master of himself in an instant 


A Mistaken Identity. 


239 


His honor, his strength had been appealed to, 
and he would be worthy of both. He drew 
himself erect, a fine color mounting to his 
brow. 

was rude; ” he said, “pray, forgive me.'' 

“Oh, no, not rude; j^ou could never be that. 
It was the fault of both. It is / you must for- 
give." 

“Let it pass! I am reminded of my duty in 
more waj^s than one. I remember now what 
I am here for and must go to work at once." 

“You have a dut3" to perform? So had I 
when I arrived here, but I fear I have sadly 
neglected it of late." 

“ Could I assist you ? " 

She looked up at him quickly. should 

she not have his help ? Perhaps it would be 
an excuse for seeing him oftener, and besides, 
it might keep her in his thoughts. She con- 
fessed to herself that she loved this man, and 
desired that he should love her. Slie would 
enlist him with her search for Percy, and thus 
create a bond between them. She felt, too, 
that he would be a little jealous, and that 
would only add in the deepening of the love 
with which she felt that she was inspiring 


240 


A Mistaken Identity. 


him. She bade him wait for her a few mo- 
ments, and tripped up-stairs, re-appearing 
soon after with a wide brimmed hat and fleecy 
white shawl. 

“ It is such a lovely da3^’’ she said, ^^and I 
can talk so much better under the trees. The 
walk will do us good and I have a mission to 
fulfill beside.’^ 

“You are afraid to be alone with me!’’ ex- 
claimed he, a little hurt. 

“That was unlike you,’’ she said, softly, “and 
unkind. If I am so, it is of myself, and not of 
you.” 

He was subdued, and a tender glow passed 
over him. This beautiful being confessed so 
much, and would allow him to admit so little. 
Yet she was his master ; he felt that and must 
obey her in all things. 

They passed out beneath the spreading 
vines and down the little walk. As they did 
so, a soldier, in negligee uniform, passed into the 
3^ard, and started for the house. As he passed, 
he touched his cap to Kate, then gazed with 
an expression of awe at Walter, a look in 
which recognition beamed from every feature. 
The glance was mutual, for Walter recognized 


.A Mistaken Identity. 


241 


the trooper whose horse he had used for his 
escape, 

‘‘Begorra! it’s that same young goint,” 
mused Teddy, as he went in quest of the cap- 
tain. “ A foine young man he is, that same! 
It ’sjist nothin’ Oi ’ll say forninst a sowl, but 
Oi’ll keep me oyes on him.” 

“Teddy seems to know 3^ou,” laughed Kate. 
“ Where have you met him ? ” 

“I can’t say,” answered Walter, denying 
the whole thing, though his eyes wavered 
from her glance, at the lie. “Perhaps he is 
mistaking me for some other.” 

Kate dropped the subject, and began her 
tale in regard to Percy. She watched Walter 
narrowly as she narrated it, and soon noticed 
the look of jealousy and suspicion that came 
to his face, yet she continued it to the end, and 
"finished by telling of her own unsuccessful at- 
tempts at finding his whereabouts. 

“ You must think a great deal of this young 
Englishman! ’’heburst out, savagely, “to come 
all this way for his sake ? ” 

Here her woman’s wit served her in good 
stead, for her answer came in a half laugh : 


242 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Perchance it was only a chain of fate to 
bring me to you.^^ 

His face lit up at once and he bent near her 
with his whole soul in his eyes. 

‘‘Tell me that you do not love him!’^ he. 
cried, “and I will move Heaven and earth to 
find him.^’ 

“I do not — in the way you mean,^^ she 
said, looking him full in the face with an hon- 
est smile that there was no mistaking. 

They had been walking leisurely all this 
time, and had now reached a spot where the 
shade was on but one side of the road, the 
other being taken up with a high wall, that 
ran completely about a low, dark building, 
which looked hardly as if it was tenanted. As 
Kate looked up at him, her eyes caught sight of 
something at an upper window over the wall, 
and her face turned pale, as she clutched Wal- 
ter’s arm fiercely. He followed the direction of 
her gaze, and was startled as she, and his 
heart gav^e a great leap, for there, with his 
[face pressed close to the glass, gazing directly 
jat him, was Henry, whom he had so long 
fought in vain. Only an instant did he see 
^he apparition, for there was the flash of a 


A Mistaken Identity. 


243 


beautiful dark face, a white hand, and the 
curtain was drawn quickly. 

Kate clung to him conYulsiYel3q her face 
aglow with excitement. 

‘‘The time has come!’^ she cried. ’“He is 
there, perhaps a prisoner. You must find out 
for me.” 

“Who is there? ” asked he, looking at her 
fixedly. 

“Percy! the young man I haYC been speak- 
ing about.” 

He looked at her, meditatiYcly. Was she 
in earnest, or was she the most consummate 
actress that CYcr goaded a man on to frenzy? 
He would try her, and see. 


CHAPTER XX.- 



A TIGRESS AT BAY. 

The apparition at the window had brought 
the memory of his duty home to Walter, 
and he was thoughtful, as they retraced their 
steps to the cottage. Kate’s strange actions 
also troubled him, but still he trusted her 
enough to feel that there was some deep mys- 
tery connected with them, which he would yet 
fathom. It could not be that this sweet girl, 
with her honest face, so full of soul could be 
false at heart. At any rate, he would give her 
the benefit of a doubt. He was naturally of 
an unsuspicious nature, and apt to believe all 
things good, until they had proved themselves 
otherwise. Besides, he trusted the friend of 
his youth, and felt in his heart that Henry 
would do nothing base. How could thesetwo 
be anything to each other, when he knew that 
Ruth was all in all to Henry Time would 
unravel the mystery, and for time he would 
wait. 


244 > 


A Mistaken Identity. 245 

Kate watched his thoughtful face furtively, 
for a while, before she spoke. She attributed 
his preoccupied air to a return of the old jeal- 
ousy, and felt vexed with him that he did not 
believe her. She felt that Percy, whom she 
took the prisoner to be, might be released 
upon application to Captain Strong, and yet 
she must first know for what reason he was 
confined, for in her haste to assist him, she 
might do him an irreparable injury. She 
resolved to leave the matter entirely in the 
hands of the young man who loved her, for 
she felt that he was strong, and capable of 
almost anything. * 

You are silent,” she ventured at last. ‘‘Of 
what are you thinking? ” 

“Of him,” he answered, absently. 

“You will rescue him, will you not?” she 
asked, appealingly, laying her hand lightly 
upon his arm. 

The young man looked down and smiled 
upon her. 

“Yes, with all my heart,” he said, and she 
gave him a grateful glance. This was to be 
the bond between them. 

He took leave of her, with every assurance 


246 


A Mistaken Identity. 


that her wishes would be fulfilled, and that 
but a short time would elapse ere the young 
man was again breathing the fresh air, and a 
promise to eommunieate to her his sueeess. 
She looked at him anxiously, as he was about 
to leave her. 

‘‘You will not run into needless danger — 
promise me,’’ she said. 

“Do you eare?” he whispered, bending 
toward her, suddenly; but she eseaped from 
him just in time. 

“Very mueh,’’ she whispered, earnestly, and 
then disappeared in the cottage. 

Walter hastened back to the house, m 
which he had seen his friend, to examine it 
more closely before making his plans. He 
found the high wall all about the large yard, 
with only one exit, and that in the front, a 
back gate that had been in use at some pre- 
vious time, having been recently walled up. 
The barrier was too high to be scaled without 
the use of a ladder, and he must therefore pro- 
cure one in some way, or make shift with a 
plank, which he could easily crawl up, if placed 
at an incline. Going round the house, he took 
note of the barred windows, and felt that the 


A Mistaken Identii^V; 


^47 


room in that part of the house was well 
guarded, with what plank and iron could do 
for it. How Henry had been allowed in the 
other part of the house, where the windows 
did not have a jail-like appearance, he was at 
a loss to know, but felt certain that the young 
man must have been under guard at the time. 
They were eYidentl3^ hatching some plot, and 
were tindng to obtain information from their 
prisoner, as to the movements of the troops. 

While the 3^oung man studied the situation, 
lost in thought, as he tried to form some plan 
in his fertile brain, a slight noise behind him, 
caused him to turn, and he was on the alert in 
a moment, for there stood Teddy, the trooper, 
whom he had so summarily unhorsed on a 
previous occasion. In an instant Walter had 
sprung upon him, and while one hand gripped 
his shoulder with a clasp of iron, the other 
was at his throat with a pressure just firm 
enough to keep him from crying out. There 
was a mild and rather roguish look in the 
eyes of Teddy, that caused him to slacken his 
hold a little. 

‘‘You look to be an honest fellow,’^ he said. 
Promise me that you will not attempt to call 


248 


A Mistaken Identity. 


for help, and I will release my hold. Do you 
promise? ” 

Teddy nodded his head as emphatically as 
he could, in his strained position, and Walter 
let go of him with a suddenness that caused 
him to stagger. 

‘‘Ye are that same Goliah entoirel'y, that yees 
were wanst before,” he said, lugubriously. 
“ An’ ye should know first, whether Teddy 
Nolan is friend or foe afore you make an overt 
attimpt to crush the loife out o’ him, en- 
toirel3^” 

“No need to ask that, I should think, by the 
dress you wear, furnished by King George.” 

“Thrue for ye, sor. An’ they do be feelin’ 
moighty uncomfortable, in me prisint state o’ 
moind. Whist ! now. Its Oirish Oi am — though 
ye may not think so from me free speech — an’ 
it’s little Oi dp be havin’ in common with that 
same King George. Faith! it’s an American, 
entoirely, Teddy is wishin’ to be.” 

“What do you mean?” cried Walter, ad- 
vancing a step nearer, impulsively. 

“Hands off there, darlint,” laughed Teddy, 
“ye do be too impressive in yer demonstra- 
tions— -as the man said to the bear, when he 


A Mistaken Identity. 


249 


liugged him close. That’s me whole meaning 
an’ if Teddy Nolan can assist ye, ye young 
hero, here ’s me hand on it, and me loife goes 
wid it.” 

Walter grasped the honest fellow’s hand, 
while there was a lump in his throat as he 
answered : 

there were more like you, my honest fel- 
low, to distinguish between right and wrong, 
the world would be on our side. I accept 
your allegiance with all the honesty in which 
it is given, and thank you at the same time.” 

“Whist! its a rebel Oi am now among yees 
all, an’ faith its an Oirishman’s privilege. The 
Continental Congress foriver! and the divil fly 
away with King George, saints presarve him ! 
with apologies to the saints, and beggin’ their 
pardon. Its meself that knows all about the 
prisoner ye are afther, for Oi was one of the 
troop that brought him to the jail.” 

“All the more blessings on you for that I” 
cried Walter, his eyes sparkling. “Do you 
know how well he is guarded ? ” 

“Faith ! an’ Oi do. There is not much guard 
at all, an’ four good men — that ’s three for you 
an’ wan for me — can get him out easily.” 


250 


A Mistaken Identity. 


^‘It must be done immediately/^ said Walter. 

‘^To-night it is, thin,’’ cried Teddy, “for that 
ould villain, the jailor, is away entoirely, an’ 
there’s only a crazy divil ov a monkey goint 
in charge. That black faced Pepper will be 
back to-morrow, so to-night is the toime.” 

“It is Ralph Pepper, then, who has him?” 

“That same. Captain Harper was sent to 
the front, an’ Pepper ran off with him on his 
own idea, an’ put him in here.” 

“We must be off. Come with me while we 
make arrangements — or rather, you had 
better go to my lodging place ahead, and I 
will come later.” 

The two separated, after Walter had 
informed his new ally where to find his place 
of abode, where they met later to arrange 
the details. It was agreed that Teddy should 
appear at the rendezvous with a short ladder 
to serve their purpose, while Walter procured 
two of the best horses from the troop aside 
from Tempest, his own favorite, which would 
be close by, in charge of one of his most trusted 
men. He knew that it would not be policy to 
attempt battle in the open streets, and they 
must resort to strategy and speed to get 


A Mistaken Identitv^. 


251 


safely away. His thoughts smote him a little 
as he remembered that he must leave Kate far 
behind, but duty was imperative, and he 
resolved to come back to the city at his 
earliest opportunitj^ and seek her out. Perhaps 
he would lose her forever. His heart sank at 
the thought, but he could not draw back. His 
duty lay clear, before him, and love must be 
thrown to the winds for the time being, at 
least. 

That night he was on hand at the wall, 
with his preparations all made. The three 
horses were ready in charge of a faithful 
trooper, safely hidden in the shade of the trees, 
where a short run would bring the prisoner 
and his rescuers where they could mount and 
be off, with the speed of the wind. Teddy had 
not yet arrived, and Walter had begun to feel 
anxious, and fearful that he had deserted him, 
in spite of his protestations, when he heard a 
footfall and a rustling, and the face of his ally 
appeared, bearing an anxious look, while be- 
hind him followed a figure in a dark cloak. 
Walter was suspicious for a moment, and his 
hand stole rapidly to his breast and clasped 
the hilt of his dagger. The figure stole up to 


252 


A Mistaken Identity. 


him quickW, and flung back the hood that had 
concealed the face. 

“Kate! ’’cried Walter, alarmed and happy 
at the same time. “You should not be here.” 

“Forgive me, dear friend,” she pleaded, com- 
ing closely to him, and raising her glorious 
e^^es to his face, while the light of a clouded 
moon showed the intense pleading in their 
depths. “I made Teddy tell me all. He would 
do anything for me, so you must not blame 
him. Promise me that you will not.” 

“You must return at once,” said he, firmly, 
“for there may be danger h^e.” 

“Ah! that is why I eame.” She looked 
about her and saw that Teddy stood at some 
distance, with the ladder ready. He could 
not overhear. “ Can you not guess why I am 
here? All day long I have been tormented; 
filled with a fear that you will endanger your- 
self in doing my bidding. I could not bear to 
think that danger might threaten you on my 
account. I have feared for 3^our safety. Oh ! 
if there is danger, draw back. I release you 
from 3^our promise.” 

The 3^oung soldier listened to the loved voice 
with feelings he could not describe. She feared 


A Mistaken Identity. 


253 


for him. Her fear had caused her to come to 
his side thotigh in the greatest danger to her- 
self. 

‘Htisiny duty. The man, confined within 
those dark walls, is my friend — my companion 
since childhood. Yon have been misled by 
some fancied resemblance, and ere we part for 
— perhaps forever — I must tell you so.’^ 

“Forever ! What do you mean ? 

“Time is precious now, sweet one. I am 
not what I seem. I am what you call a rebel. 
Our wa3^s lie far apart — yours in your happy 
home, mine in the deep forest and trackless 
swamp, with Marion and hi« men, a foe to 
those you hold dear. Farewell, before my 
heart breaks.’^ . 

With a sudden and irresistible impulse he 
clasped her in a crushing embrace ; kissed her 
once, twice, passionately, then rushed to the 
wall, raised the ladder against it, and was at 
the top. The ladder was lowered on the other 
side, and the pair disappeared. 

Kate sank upon her knees on the soft grass 
as he released her, her brain in a whirl. Her 
face was a rosy red, and her breath came fast. 
He loved her. Her whole being seemed filled 


254 , 


A Mistaken Identity. 


with a tenderness as she felt his passionate 
kisses still warm upon her lips. That the 
prisoner was not Perey, she never thought of 
for an instant. Her whole soul was filled with 
her hero, and she eould think of nothing else. 
‘‘Forever,’^ he had said. They must part for- 
ever. How little he knew a woman^s heart. 
Her mind was madeup, and she artfull}^ smiled. 
Then she watehed the house. Her whole soul 
now was wrapped up in a prayer for the safe 
return, from over that blaek wall, of the man 
she loved. 

Meanwhile the twomenhad deseended on the 
inside, and stopped for a moment to look about 
them. Speed was the prineipleobjeet, for they 
feared little opposition when they onee sue- 
ceeded in gaining an entranee to the building. 

suppose the door is the quiekest way,’* 
said Walter. We will attaek that first.” 

^‘The do’r it is thin ! ” eried Teddy. 

They sprang silently to the steps, and 
Walter examined the heavy woodwork. 

^‘It will be no easy matter to break this in, 
and there is no other way,” said Walter. 
^‘Fetehme the ladder. It is heavy, and will 
do the work/’ 


A Mistaken Identity. 


255 


Teddy brought it in a twinkling. They laid 
it down horizontally, and both, catching hold 
of the heavy piece of carpenter’s work, used it 
as a battering ram. Once, twice, the blows 
resounded, and then the heavy lock gave way 
with a crash. 

Wait for me, here! ” cried Walter, handing 
him his pistol, “and if help comes from the 
outside, hold them off if you can.” 

“The first shpalpeen that approaches, is a 
dead man ! ” cried the delighted Irishman, as 
he brandished the heavy weapon. 

Walter leaped into the building, and 
through the long hallway. It was dark, and 
he was obliged to grope his way. He had 
nearly reached the end, when a door directly 
in front of him opened, and the sudden light 
from a candle nearly blinded him. It was Uri, 
who had been awakened by the crash, and 
was hurrying to see what was the trouble. 
He paused for an instant to gaze on the 
intruder, and then, quick as thought, he set 
the candle upon the floor and sprang at 
Walter, with a growl like that of a wild beast. 
As the gaunt giant came at him, Walter 
caught him firmly, in a wrestler’s hold, His left 


256 


A Mistaken Identity. 


arm went about his waist, the left elbow 
foreed beneath his chin, one knee planted on 
the stomach of his adversary. Down went 
Uri like a shot, half stunned, and in a twink- 
ling Walter had turned him over, and had his 
hands pinioned behind his back with the aid 
of his silk handkerchief. 

Get up,’’ he said, tersely. 

The gaunt one obeyed, and eyed him 
savagely. Walter drew his dagger, and 
picked the candle from the floor, where it 
still flickered from the struggle that had 
taken place. 

“Now show me where the prisoner is con- 
fined ! ” 

Uri obeyed mechanically, the flash from 
the steel blade sending cold chills up his spine. 
He led the way up the stairs, and to the door 
with the slide. 

“Here it is,”' he said, “shove the slide.” 

Walter did so, and threw the light of the 
candle into the room. It was empty. 

“You have deceived me!” he cried. “He is 
not here.” 

Uri looked in, and uttered a curse. 

“Here, this way!” he cried, his face dis- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


257 


torted with passion. The simple fellow sus- 
pected. He led Walter to Jessaline’s room, 
and burst in the door with a kick. The oc- 
cupants had already been aroused, and Henry 
was just drawing on his coat hastily as they 
entered. Jessaline had thrown on a wrapper 
and stood before him, her eyes blazing, her 
nostrils dilated with fear. 

What do you want here ? ’’ she cried. 

‘‘Walter!” cried Henry, advancing a step, 
and then hanging his head. Uri leaned his 
gaunt form against the wall, and eyed Henry 
with a glance in which death lurked. 

‘‘This is no time for explanations!” cried 
Walter. “ We have no time to lose ! Come ! ” 

“Henry!” cried Jessaline, clinging to him. 
“You will not leave me? Do notgo with him ! 
I love you, oh! I love you. If I lose 3^ou, I 
die!” 

She looked in his face and saw no hope for 
her there. Walter had recalled all the old ties. 
She flung herself in front of him and spread 
out her arms. 

“You shall not take him, except over mj 
dead body! ” 

Walter tried to force her aside, but she 


258 


A Mistaken Identity, 


fought like a tigress at bay over her cubs^ 
and scratched with her nails, tearing at him 
with her teeth. Walter flung her loose, not 
unkindly. 

“ Farewell ! Jessaline,’’ cried Henry, hoarsely. 
’^And God forgive me for the wrong I have 
done you ! 

The two young men sprang toward the 
door. Jessaline threw her arms above her 
head, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell all in 
a heap on the floor, the rich, glossy hair cov- 
ering her like a pall. Uri fell on his knees be- 
side her, struggling with his bonds, and curs- 
ing her betrayer, while the rescuer and the res- 
cued flew down the stairs, where Teddy 
awaited them at the door. 

‘‘Quick, quick !’^ he cried. “The red-coats, 
blast them ! are coming on the other side. To 
the gate — it’s the only chance.” 

They sprang to it, while the tramp of feet 
grew closer every moment, mingled with the 
clamp of arms and the hoarse voice of com- 
mand. The gate was locked. Walter tore a 
gigantic stone from the side of the walk, that 
made him stagger under its weight. Gather-, 
ing all his force, he hurled it at the heavy 


A Mistaken Identity. 


259 


plank, that crushed like so much egg-shell. 
They leaped through and were in the open air. 
Walter saw with terror that a cloaked figure 
sprang toward him. Kate had not returned 
home. 

‘‘My love,” she said, “you are safe.’^ 

He shut his lips firmly, and caught her in 
his arms. The heads of a column of men ap- 
peared at the angle of the wall. 

“Follow me! ” he cried, and he sprang into 
the bushes, carrying Kate as though she were 
an infant, while her dear arms clasped his 
neck and her fragrant breath came in little de- 
lighted gasps, close to his cheek. 

“My hero,” vshe whispered, and he felt that 
he could conquer an army for her dear sake. 

They were pursued, but the horses were 
close at band. They sprang into the saddles, 
Walter lifting his loved one lightly before him, 
and they tore off, followed by a few harmless 
scattering shots. 

“You are a little rebel now! ” cried Walter, 
jo3rously, while she clung to him, well satis- 
fied. “Do you hate me for tearing you away 
from all your friends ? ” 

“It is what I should have asked, You haye 


260 


A Mistaken Identity. 


had my heart, and my hand goes with it. 
Where thou goest, I will go, where thou beest, 
I will be; my love, my king.’^ 

And Walter thanked Heaven for its gift of 
the choicest blessing that can be given to 
man. A true woman’s heart, a true woman’s 
love. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


FACE TO FACE. 

The troop was soon joined, and a rest taken 
for a short time, from the vapid flight. The 
noble horses that had not faltered for an in- 
stant in the dash for liberty, were tethered in 
the shade of the forest, and plans were made 
at once as to where the troop was to move. 
Teddy was allowed, at his own request, to 
doff the coat that had been furnished by his 
majesty, and don a spare one belonging to a 
trooper, which he purchased from that indi- 
vidual with a piece of silver, bearing the head 
of that same hated sovereign. Walter led 
Kate to a seat on a camp stool, bade her rest 
for a while, and joined Henry at a little dis- 
tance, where he was pacing feverishly, to and 
fro, in an agony of shame. He turned quickly, 
as Walter approached. 

“How you must hate me,’^ he began, not 

daring to look his old friend and companion 

in the face. “I feel that I am not worthy the 
261 


A Mistaken Identity. 


^62 

friendship of any man. My own conscience 
reproaches me, and I almost wish that one of 
those British bullets had ended my unwhole- 
some existence.’’ 

‘‘You are growing morbid,” answered his 
friend. “Far be it from me to attempt either 
justification or censure. Man is but a beast 
at best, some of us of a fairer type than an- 
other, and temptation is seldom resisted, 
unless some loved presence is so near that the 
tempted one may fly to her for forgetfulness of 
the temptation, in the sweeter blessing of the 
reality.” 

“I should not have been so base,” moaned 
Henry. “How will I ever dare to meet 
Ruth?” 

“It is a little difficult. You must tell her 
all and at once, directly you see her. At least, 
do not live a lie. She may forgive you, or at 
least try to forget.” 

“The latter is the best I can expect. Where 
shall we go from here? ” 

“Directly home. I wish to place Kate under 
the care of our loved ones as soon as possible, 
for as soon as this excitement is over, she will 


A MisTAlcEN Identity. 


263 


keenly feel her strained position, with only 
men about her. We must start at once.” 

think,” said Henry, hesitatingly, ‘Hhat I 
will only accompany 3^011 as far as the forks, 
and go first to my own place. It is growing 
late, and I do not feel equal to the task of 
confronting my sweet wife to-night, for I must 
tell her of my actions, and await her decree at 
once.” 

‘^As you please, but remember that I am 
with you always, and if it becomes necessary, 
will speak a word or two in your cause.” 

felt that you would ! ” cried Henry, clasp- 
ing his friend’s hand, ‘‘but do not let me de- 
tain you. You have an affair of the heart of 
3'our own to attend to, so speed it while you 
may. I will be near by as we travel.” 

Walter rejoined Kate at once. He had tried 
his best to get a saddle for her, but there were 
no farm houses or stables near by where one 
might be found, nor was there one in the 
troop, which carried no luggage of an3^ conse- 
quence. The girl looked up with a happy 
smile as her lover approached her. He looked 
in vain for the lines of anxiety which he feared 
would begin to appear in her face. 


^64 


A Mistaken Identi'i'V. 


‘^You are not angry with me?^^ he ques- 
tioned. 

‘‘Angry — she laughed, a sweet laugh, full 
of eontentment. “Angry for taking me where 
my heart longed to go ? No ! I think not.^’ 

He bent and kissed her fondly, an aet which 
caused Teddy, who chanced to be coming to- 
ward them, to dodge out of sight behind a tree. 

“My queen, “ he whispered; then, after a 
delicious pause, “I could not procure you a 
saddle.'^ 

“Are you sure? Ah! I fear that is but a 
subterfuge, to be allowed to carry me again 
in your arms. I cannot permit it.^^ 

“What else can we do ? 

“Nothing,’^ she answered, smiling up at 
him, “so clasp me close again. Where are 
you taking me ? ’’she asked with quaint simplic- 
ity, which showed implicit faith in him. She 
knew he had formed a good plan. 

“To my own home, where you will be 
watched over as jealously as a hot-house 
flower, by the kindest father and the sweetest 
sister in the world.” 

She said no more, and Walter led out 
Tempest, sprang upon his back, and swung 


A Mistaken Identity. 


265 


her lightly before him, where he had strapped a 
soft blanket to make the seat more comfortable. 
Part of the troop had already gone on ahead, 
and the noble horse dashed off after them, 
scarcely heeding his double load. 

Henry followed shortly after, feeling moody 
and disconsolate. His freedom did not give 
him the joy it would have given a man with a 
clearer conscience. It must be confessed, also, 
that there was a shadow of regret. He had 
not loved Jesskline, yet her spontaneous love 
had inspired him with a passion that men too 
often mistake for the finer quality. Passion is 
but a fever of the blood, love a higher attri- 
bute of the mind ; and the two are as far re- 
moved from each other as the poles, yet how 
often are they confounded. He was angry 
with himself at what he termed his foible, and 
yet the loss of that same folly brought a 
yearning to his soul. He missed her, as the 
flower misses the thunder storm when it is 
passed. The experience has been refreshing, 
albeit terrible. 

Gradually objects became familiar about 
him as he drew near roads that he had trav- 
elled before, and the immediate past began to 


A Mistaken Identiti^. 


^66 

be blotted out in the memories of more famil- 
iar scenes. Gradually the day began to die, 
and the gloom of the east to drive into obscur- 
ity the last flickering rays of departing day. 
The stars came out dimly at first, and then 
grew brighter as the night wore on. He 
halted the troop for the night at a convenient 
spot, and continued his way. Walter, mean- 
time, had left the main road, and taken his 
way, accompanied by Teddy and a chosen 
few of the troopers, to his house, where he felt 
a warm welcome was awaiting him and the 
sweet girl he was bringing to them, to be 
cared for until he should claim her as his own 
before the world. 

The faint tint of a bluish green appearing 
over the tree tops showed that the moon was 
rising, and would soon throw its flood of light 
over slope, wood and swamp. Henry watched 
the queen of night as it rose slowly in the 
heavens, sometimes but partly obscured by a 
fleecy cloud, and then bursting out in full 
splendor before him. Often had he watched it 
rise over these same trees in his youth. He 
urged on his horse, and soon the walls of his 
home rose before him, standing out like a 


A Mistaken Identiti^. 


267 


medallion in the clear moonlight, with the 
dark background of the trees behind it. He 
reined up his steed, and gazed upon it long 
and tenderly. There had he passed his young 
manhood, some of the pleasantest days it were 
possible for one to have to remember. He 
walked his horse to the stable. No one was 
about, so he led him to his stall and turned 
him in. Then he made his way to the house. 
He knew its every nook and corner with his 
eyes shut. He would disturb no one, for he 
could open a window as he had often done 
when a boy, and go to his room unobserved. 
There was a light in his room in the upper 
story. The room he always used as a study 
and sitting room. It seemed strange to him 
that it should be lit up while he was absent. 
If company had come, certainly there were 
plenty of other rooms in the house in which to 
place them without using his own rooms, 
which usually were kept inviolate during his 
absence. 

He took his way to a window that had 
often given him ingress during his younger 
days, and opened a clasp knife that he carried, 
having procured it from one of his troop di- 


^68 A Mistaken Identity. 

rectly upon his release. He thrust the blade in 
the crack, lifted a catch, swung the sash open, 
and entered noiselessly. The light of the moon 
showed the interior plainly, and, even had it 
not been there to assist him, he would have 
been little troubled in finding his way about, 
for the position of every object was printed 
indelibly upon his memory. He closed the 
window carefully, and paused for a moment 
to look about him. How little had he ex- 
pected ever to see the old walls again, and yet 
here he was, transported as if by magic from 
his prison to his home. 

He opened the door and went silently up the 
stairway, pausing for an instant before the 
door to his room. Surely there was a light 
behind the door, yet he heard no noise. There 
could be no one there. He listened for quite a 
while, but no sound came to him. Perhaps a 
candle had been left burning there by some of 
the help. At least it would do no harm to see. 
He wanted to alone, to think, and no place 
would be like his own room for that purpose. 
He paused for another moment, irresolute, 
and then lifted the latch and pushed the door 
gently open. 


A Mistaken: Identity. 


269 


Hardly had he stepped into the room before 
he was aware that it already had an occu- 
pant, for a man rose suddenly from the chair 
in which he had been sitting, and stood facing 
him, his back toward the light, and even as he 
did so, Henry noticed that he held a pistol in 
his hand. He had thrown his coat over the 
back of a chair, and stood in his waistcoat. 

‘^Yon seemed to expect some one,” said 
Henry, calmly, pointing to the weapon. May 
I ask whom?” 

The other did not speak, seeming to be 
turned to stone, either from terror, or some 
other deep feeling. Then the pistol f^lippcd 
from his grasp, and fell to the floor. Henry 
sprang to it at once, and placed his foot upon 
it. The other did not seem to heed the impor- 
tance of the movement, but remained like one. 
spellbound. 

“You do not seem in haste to answer my 
question,” insisted Henry, mockingly. 

“In’Heaven^s name! sir,” said the other, in 
a voice filled with awe, “tell me who you 
are.” 

“With pleasure, since I now hold the key to 
the situation. I am Henry Carter, owner of 


270 


A Mistaken Identity. 


Delside, a captain of a troop under Marion ! 
Now, who are you ? ’’ 

The unknown kept his face well in the 
shadow, and pointed to the table where a 
sheet of paper lay, the ink upon its surface still 
wet with recent writing. 

Will you kindly read that?” he said, in a 
Yoice that trembled with emotion. “It will 
explain more than I can tell you by word of 
mouth.” 

Henry stepped to the other side of the table, 
first securing the firearm, to guard against 
any trick that the other might have in mind, 
picked up the paper, and read : 

Dear Friends All; 

I write this short note to you, hoping that after it is 
read, I may find forgiveness in the hearts of those who 
have been so kind to me, for the rash act I am now about 
to commit. Ever since you took me in, sick and near unto 
death, nursing me back to life and reason, I have been sen- 
sible of the debt I owe you, but something tells me that 
there is that in my life which my lost memory can never 
recall. Events have happened of late which make it better 
that I should cease to exist, for with each day of my life 
comes only added agony. You will say that my wound has 
cra^^ed my brain. Well, be it so. My hand now commands 
the bullet that shall send me into the great unknown. God 
forgive me. Farewell all and Heaven bless you. 

Henry Carter. 

“What deviks scheme is this? cried Henry, 


A Mistaken Identity. 


271 


davshmg the sheet down tipon the table, and 
cidvancing a step toward the other, who stood 
with arms folded, the light falling full upon 
liis pale, set features. 

‘‘My God!” 

The exclamation burst from Henry as he 
recoiled from the man as if he had seen a 
ghost. What trickery was being worked upon 
him ? The man he gazed upon wore some of 
his own clothes, and had his own features — 
almost part for part. As they stood thus, a 
third party might easily have detected the dis- 
similarities. Henryks face was fuller than that 
of the other, and the hair was of a bluer black 
and not as curly. His brows also were heavier 
and not so finely penciled, the eyes themselves 
being hardly as large and full of expression. 
He was, in fact, a grosser type of the same 
man. 

“ You notice it, too, do you not?” said the 
other, in slow, measured tones. “Then I am 
not dreaming. Fou are Henry Carter; thank 
Heaven for that! but whoy in Heaven's name, 
am I?'' 

“ You were about to take your life, if thi^ 


272 


A Mistaken Identity. 


letter is to be believed/^ said Henry, bewil- 
dered, “ and under my name ! Wli\^ so ? 

^^They told me that I was Henry Carter 
when they took me in, dying from a wound 
in my head, and brought me back to life, all 
but my memory, which has forever fled. I be- 
lieved them. How could I do otherwise? I 
see now why they made the mistake.’^ 

A sudden fear came over Henry as the other 
spoke. There was truth in his voice, in his 
every word. If he had been taken for himself, 
how had it been with Ruth, his wronged 
wife ? Had Heaven sent this to him as a pun- 
ishment for his folly ? ’’ 

And Ruth — my wife!^’ he cried, hoarsely; 
did she believe as the rest ? 

‘‘My God! do not think that for a moment. 
They never told me of — of my supposed wife 
until I had learned to love another. She is as 
inviolate as when you left her.’^ 

“Thank God! Thank God!” cried Henry, 
fervently. 

“If you believe me,” said the unknown, after 
a pause, “there is no need to prolong this. 
Give me another room until the morning. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


273 


when we can go together, and set matters 
right. 

‘^Keep the room,’^ said Henry. ‘‘I do belicYe 
you, and will do all in my power to help you 
find your identity, but no more thoughts of 
this,” pointing to the pistol. 

‘^No! that is all over,” with a sad little 
smile. A new world opens before me now.” 

The two men parted, Henry holding out a 
friendly hand, which the unknown grasped 
with an honest pressure, the former to seek a 
bed in his own house, the other to pace the 
floor restlessly until the first faint streaks of 
morning dawned, and the candle sputtered in 
its socket. Gradually a new light came to his 
e3"es, and the color to his cheeks. The past 
was dying with the night, and with the morn 
came hope of a future filled with love and 
promise, with the bright, beautiful face of 
Eloise as the guiding star. 

He had lost a name, and found love, and the 
right to love, in return. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE LOST IS FOUND. 

Walter made such great haste with his fair 
burden that the night was not far advanced 
when he drew jn sight of the dear old planta- 
tion, and heard the, subdued songs of the ne- 
groes in their quarters while they enjoyed 
themselves before going to rest. He had out- 
stripped the balance of the party in his haste 
to arrive before his people had retired for the 
night, and as he drew rein before the door, 
even Tempest, that intrepid steed, felt the 
effects of his hard drive and double load, 
breathing heavily, while his widely-opened 
nostrils were foam-flecked. He arched his 
neck proudly, however, as Kate patted his 
muscular neck, and spoke to him in words of 
praise. It seemed as if the noble brute under- 
stood her perfectly. The sound of their ap- 
proach had been heard within the house, for 
now the door opened, and Roger appeared on 

874 


A Mistaken Identity. 


275 


the threshold, shading his eyes with his hand. 

^^It^s only me! father,’’ eried Walter. 

‘‘ My son ! ” gasped the old man. ‘^Now the 
good God be praised!” and he ran out and 
clasped his dear boy in his arms. 

‘‘Softly, father, softly. You see I bring a 
prisoner,” said his son, laughing, and taking 
Kate’s hand, he led her forward, where the full 
light of the moon fell upon her bounteous 
beauty. 

“Bless my soul!” cried Roger, who was as 
much an admirer of female beauty as any 
young man of his day. “You do not 
mean to have me believe that you have turned 
pirate, and are carrying off maidens as pris- 
oners.” 

“As willing prisoners, sir,” said Kate, hang- 
ing her head, to hide the surging blush. What 
would the young man’s people think of her 
rash act? Still she did not repent, for Walter 
was near her, and beneath his strength and 
love was absolute safety and happiness. “Tell 
him, Walter.” 

“This young lady,” said Walter, his voice 
tremulous with a sweet earnestness, “is to 
be the future Mrs. Fuller, and your second 


276 


A Mistaken Identity. 


daughter.” The name struek Kate at onee. 
He had deeeived her then, that other time. 
She looked athimreproaehfully, and he flushed 
a little. 

Roger opened his heart and arms to her at 
onee. 

‘‘Weleome! thriee weleome!” he eried, kiss- 
ing her pure brow. ‘‘Both for the sake of my 
son, and that of your own pure faee.” 

The heart of the girl warmed to him at 
onee. She felt the kindly influenee that he 
ever exeited, and trusted him from that mo- 
ment. 

“I know I shall love you,” she whispered, 
as she returned his earess. 

“Bless you! my dear,” was his answer. 
“But eome in at onee, for they will all be 
enraptured to see you.” 

Walter, of eourse, was reeeived with a per- 
feet flood of joy, and Kate eould hardly eom- 
plain of her weleome. It was enough that 
Walter loved her, to have her taken at onee to 
the hearts of that little household. Eloise 
elaimed her as her special charge, and as the 
poor girl was painfully fatigued with her hard 
ride, she carried her off in triumph to her own 


A Mistaken Identity. 


277 


room, where she assisted her to disrobe, loaned 
her a night robe, and saw her safely to her 
own bed, before she began to prepare her own 
toilet. 

^‘You are so beautiful, she said. do not 
wonder that Walter lost his heart to you.’^ 

‘‘How can you speak of beauty, when your 
glass has such a sweet tale to tell. We are to 
love each other, very dearly, are we not ? 

“Yes, dear, kiss me.’^ 

“ Oh! it is so sweet to love. Have you ever 
known what it is ? 

Eloise turned pale. 

“ Perhaps, she sighed, and thought of 
Henry. 

Meantime Walter had been busy answering 
questions down stairs, but had resolved to say 
nothing about Henry but let him arrive and 
give his own surprise. At the same time he 
thought it strange that they did not ask in re- 
gard to his whereabouts or welfare. They, in 
turn, did not wish to mar the pleasure of his 
return by a recital of the sufferings of the sup- 
posed Plenry, so put off the evil hour for the 
morrow. At a late hour Walter repaired to 


278 


A Mistaken Identity. 


his bed, as happy as a man can well be, and 
dreamed of Kate, love and happiness. 

The next morning, after breakfast was over, 
they were all gathered in the sitting-room, the 
windows opened wide to admit of the cool 
autumn breeze. Kate was seated, running 
her fingers lightly over the harpsichord. She 
was an excellent musician, and loved to play 
upon the instrument, yet now her heart was 
filled with other matters. * Walter bent over 
her lovingly, while Eloise sat near, and looked 
upon them tenderly, yet with a pain at her 
heart. Roger and Ruth were engaged in a 
battle with chess, that had begun the previous 
evening, and was soon at the height of in- 
terest. The battle was soon ended, however, 
for with a face beaming with triumph, the old 
man made a move, and called “checkmate.’^ 
You have nie,’^ said Ruth. And I thought 
I had you with my queen. Well, I will play 
more carefully next time.’^ 

Roger bent toward her. 

‘^Had we not better tell Walter now about 
Henry ? he asked. 

“If you wish,’' she said, after thinking for a 
few moments. “We had best have it over 


A Mistaken Identity. 


27d 


with. It will cause him great sorrow, that 
his old companion will not know hlm.^^ 

They called over to them, and he drew a 
chair near, and sat down. He saw that some- 
thing troubled them and wondered what it 
could be. Kate looked across the room and 
smiled at him as she arose and took a seat by 
the side of Eloise. He smiled back, his eyes 
filled with love. Then he waited for his father 
to speak. 

We have not yet told you of Henry, said 
his father. We have sad things to tell you 
of him, which we preferred to let rest until 
to-day.'^ 

‘^Yes/^ said Walter, looking alarmed. ^Hs 
it anything serious ? I hardly comprehend. 

Then his father told him the whole story. 
How the young man had fallen, wounded, at 
their very door; of his loss of memory; for- 
getting everything, even the closest ties. 
How Dr. Mitchell had been certain that when 
he was confronted by faces with which he had 
been familiar in his youth, he would return to 
his former self, and how fearfully they had 
been disappointed. 

While his father spoke, Walter's face was a 


580 


A Mistaken Identity. 


study. He looked at Ruth, and saw by her 
expression that his father was serious. Won- 
der was depicted on his every feature. Eloise 
and Kate arose and strolled out of the house, 
but he did not notice them. He wondered if 
he was in a dream. The story seemed incredi- 
ble. When his father had finished, he re- 
mained silent for quite a time. 

“Your story is a strange one,’^ he said, 
slowly. “All the more so, when I tell you 
that it is but ^^esterday that I rescued Henry, 
in person, from a Charleston prison, and that 
he was with us a part of the way. You can 
imagine, therefore, how your story affects 
me.” 

His father stared with astonishment, and 
Ruth seemed ready to faint. That undefined 
suspicion seemed to assume a shape, at last. 
She tried to speak, but the sound of hoofs at 
the front of the house drowned her voice. She 
grasped the back of her chair as she stood, 
and swayed as she gazed, as if fascinated at 
the open doorway. They followed her look, 
and read the explanation of the mystery as 
readily as she did. 

Followed by Caesar and a half dozen of the 


A Mis'Taken Identitit. 2S1 

hands at Delside, came the two young men, 
Henry and the unknown. Side by side they 
advanced into the room, the clear dissimilar- 
ity between them apparent as they stood in 
the bright light of that autumn morning, al- 
most as a reproach to those who had made 
the fearful mistake. They stood there for a 
moment, and then the true Henry caught 
sight of Ruth. She saw him, and the whole of 
her doubting, earnest heart went out to him. 
There was no mistake now, and she rushed 
into his arms, and clasped him close. 

“My husband ! she exclaimed. 

And Henry, forgetting all in that loved 
embrace, held her close and kissed the pure 
lips. She was his to love and to cherish. 
What an escape they had. It made him shud- 
der for a moment. Then Roger greeted him 
heartily. 

“We have made a mistake, my boy,’^ he 
said, “due, probably, to an excess of zeal. 

The unknown stood with folded arms, 
looking upon them all. He gazed about him 
for the one presence that he cared for now, 
and not seeing it, became thoughtful. He was 
in the way now, he felt, and should make the 


282 


A Mist'aken Identity. 


necessary excuses and bid them adieu. He 
was nothing to them. He advanced a step 
toward them, and spoke coldly : 

‘‘I trust that Mr. Carter is satisfied of my 
honesty,’’ he said. ^‘Therecanbe no need of 
my remaining longer to trouble you. I thank 
you all for what you have done for me, and 
bid you an adieu.” 

^‘Stop! young man,” cried Roger, ‘^we do 
not do things in that way here. You are 
alone and unknown. You know not where 
are your friends, nor who they are. Remain 
with us until they are found.” 

The unknown shook his head, 
could not think of troubling you,” he 

said. 

“Let me add my entreaties I” said Walter, 
impulsively, extending his hand and clasping 
that of the other in a hearty grasp. “ Let me 
be your brother.” 

The young man appeared much moved, and 
brushed away a tear that had gathered in his 
eye. With arms clasped about each other 
Kate and Eloise entered by the window. 
They were a pretty pair. The eyes of the un- 
known filled with a soft light, and then blazed. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


1:3 

Eloise looked upon the two young men, and 
s^^^g^red to a chair, her brain in a whirl. 
Kate looked from one to the other, and then, 
with a glad cry, she rushed upon the unknown 
and clasped her arms about his neck, while 
she kissed him on the white forehead. 

Percy, oh, Percy!” she cried, “found at 
last.” 

Eloise started up, her heart filled with a 
jealous fear, and fled from the room. Walter 
looked savage, and looked as if about to 
spring upon the young man, when he remem- 
bered her story of this same Percy Taylor, and 
how she had come to the new world to find 
him. He knew now why she had thought 
Henry was he, when they saw him at the 
window in Charleston. 

Kate drew him forward by the hand, not 
noticing the look of agony that convulsed his 
face, as the mental struggle was taking place. 
Suddenly he threw up his hands, with a glad 
cry. 

“Kate ! ” he cried ; “ Kate Haven I My little 
chum. My dear friend I Thank God ! I remem- 
ber ! I know all now I I am no longer an urn 


284 


A Mistaken Identity. 


known ! I am Percy Taylor y of Rockfern, 
Cheshire, England!'^ 

^‘Taylor, of Rockfern !’^ cried Henry, his face 
beaming. “Taylor was my mother^s name, 
and her brother. Colonel Gray Percival Taylor, 
of Rockfern. Percy, yon are my cousin. 

Percy’s eyes were beaming. It all had come 
so suddenly. The mists had cleared away 
from the past, and the once clouded brain now 
reasoned clearly. No longer was the world 
to be dark and dreary for him, for here were 
friends and loved ones about him in profusion. 

“How came you here? ” he cried, looking at 
the young girl with a happy smile. 

“I came after you. When we received your 
letter that you had left for the colonies, I came 
after you, with Captain and Mrs. Strong. 
Bless their dear hearts! I suppose they are 
thinking all manner of dreadful things about 
me.” 

“But how came you here?” insisted Percy, 
bewildered. 

“Walter,” she cried, blushing, “why don’t 
you answer the young man ? ” 

“Sol will, dear. It’s very simple. I just 
stoleher from Mr. and Mrs. Captain Strong.” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


285 


‘‘Ah ! I see/^ said Percy. “So my fair Kate 
has found her master. I say, Kate, what if 
we had obe3^ed the governor’s commands? 
I rather think it would have knocked out all 
this.” 

“Are you not ashamed of yourself? ” she re- 
Xilied. 

“Where is Eloise?” asked her father. 

He had missed her, as well as Percy, who 
had been looking about the room in search of 
the dear face, for some moments. 

“I think I know sir,” cried Percy, “and as 
Ruth and Henry seem occupied, and Walter 
here will have his hands full with Kate, which 
he certainly will, if he expects to hold up his 
end of the conversation, I will go and find her 
m^^self.” 

As he passed out of the door, going to- 
ward the brookside, he heard Aunt Kitty say 
to C^sar: 

“I done tole you, ole man, ’bout dat ar 
mole, undah de ear. Massa Henry, he hab it 
shuah, but dis gemman ain’t got none. I tole 
yo’ so fo’ shuah.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE MAN AND THE MAID. 

When Percy passed out of the house on to 
the lawn, he looked about him with the air of 
a man who had conquered the world, and 
found happiness in the strife. How few peo- 
ple know the value of such a small thing as 
memory. He had lost it for a time, and the 
agony he had endured had been terrible. That 
mixture of doubt and fear had followed him 
each day, and made life unbearable. Then 
had come the knowledge that he was wedded 
to Ruth, and the world seemed dead to him. 
He laughed aloud, now, as he looked up at 
the blue sky, the spreading forest, the rustling 
trees, and felt the cool morning wind upon his 
face. He had found himself. The song says : 
‘‘Memory is the only friend that grief can call 
its own.^^ With him, memory had given him 
a future. A future that, when he paused to 

think of it, made his heart beat fast, and his 

286 


A Mistaken Identity. 


287 


pulse quicken at the thought. He had given up 
Eloise, in his inmost heart, and it had been 
that, which had almost brought him to the 
point of putting an end to his existence the 
night before. How near are we to happiness 
sometimes, when we wearily throw down our 
cross, and give up the struggle of life in despair. 
He shuddered as he thought how near he had 
been to giving up. 

How well he knew where to find her, the 
maid of his heart. Where would she be but at 
the trysting place? Where, but by the brook, 
where she had driven him from her on that 
day when he would have told her of his love? 
He could see it all over again. Her averted 
face, that only showed the tips of the ears and 
the full round neck, each flushed, as she sent 
him from her. Then the ride together, when 
she had escaped such a fearful fate. He remem- 
bered her every look and gesture. He might 
have doubted, but that he recalled that fearful 
look of despair upon her face as she rose to 
face and repel him, her little hands working 
nervously, when he had confessed his love. 
Ah ! she loved him ! He was sure of it, and he 
quickened his step as he picked his way over 


288 


A Mistaken Identity. 


the moss and stones to the shady nook he 
would never forget. That spot, and that 
only, should be the place for their union of 
heart to heart. 

As for Eloise, she had fled from the house at 
the instant Kate had flung herself upon Percy’s 
neck. She had understood in a moment the 
story that the likeness, the two young men 
bore to each other, told, and for one moment a 
great wave of happiness had surged up over 
her heart, and filled her whole being. He was 
not Ruth’s. She had Jio claim on him. The 
revulsion of feeling nearly took her breath 
away; and then— then, Kate had flung her- 
self into his arms. Her whole jealous nature 
was up in arms in an instant, in a battle with 
pride. With a heart that pained her as if it 
would break, she had left the room as quickly 
as her almost tottering limbs would carry her. 
Out in the air, she felt revived, and with a 
quick instinct she made direct for her little re- 
treat, where she might be alone in her misery. 

It was true that Kate, to whom she had taken 
a strong fancy, had professed almost passion- 
ate adoration for her brother, yet how did she 
know but what there was already a bond be- 


A Mistaken Identity. 


289 


tween these two — tlie man she loved so fondly 
and the sweet girl she had been so prepared to 
take to her heart. She flung herself on the 
seat, which he had called her throne, and gave 
way to a burst of grief. She knew now why 
she had grown to love the supposed Henry so 
well. The affection she had felt for Ruth’s 
husband had been but little more than a ripened 
friendship. For this man her whole heart had 
gone forth, though against her bidding. She 
had often wondered why her love could have 
increased for a man, when he had become an- 
other’s, and the mystery was explained. But 
he did not love her — the other had all his af- 
fection. Had she not seen the expression on 
his face when he saw her ? • 

She heard a faint sound in the thicket. She 
sprang lightlj^ to her feet, for she was all nerves 
to-day. Her eyes blazed. Could it be? Her 
breath came fast and she pressed her hand to 
her heart as if to still its wild beating. Then 
a form sprang from the bushes which it thrust 
impatiently apart, and stood on the edge of 
the little brook that gurgled past, laughing at 
them, even as he had done that other time 
when she had driven him from her. Her hear!. 


290 


A Mistaken Identity. 


seemed to urge her to reach out her arms to 
him, but she was a woman, and remained an 
enigma for the honor of her sex. Her features 
seemed to freeze, as she saw his laughing face. 
How improYcd he looked. Something had 
changed him wonderfully. There was more 
soul expressed in his large eyes. 

“Ah! truant, I have found you,’^ he cried, 
and the next instant he had bounded over the 
brook, and was hastening towards her. In 
his eagerness he had not noticed her coldness. 
His brain had been filled but with one idea: 
to seek her out and take her to his heart at 
once. He had not figured that he would be 
obliged to win her first. This had never 
entered his head for a moment. He was free 
to win her ; she was all in all to him, and he 
had not had time to argue with himself. 

She did not seat herself this time, but stood 
leaning a hand against the trunk of a tree, her 
eyes turned everywhere except upon his face. 
She would not dare to face him, fearing for her 
own weakness. His eyes were magnetic to 
her, and she dared not trust her own. 

“Why did you come here?” she asked, so 
coldly that he started and gazed at her closely 


A Mistaken Identity. 291 

^‘Why should I not seek you out?’’ he said, 
trying to ealm his passion, and speak in a 
modulated voiee, whieh trembled in spite of 
him. 

“There were others to elaim your attention 
at the house,” looking toward him scornfully, 
for just an instant. “It would have been bet- 
ter had you remained with them. They^ at 
least, would have amused you. 

He gazed at her, fixedly. Why was she so 
cold now? Was there something in the air of 
this spot which made her so, for so she had 
been to him that other time ? He grew impa- 
tient and half angry. 

“Why should we be at cross purposes ? You 
know why I have came here. Why are you so 
cold to me?” 

“One would think,” she answered, with a 
slight curl of her lip, “that you were anx- 
ious to have all womankind warm toward 
you. I prefer to be excluded from the common 
herd. I am odd in my tastes, perhaps, but I 
do not like to divide my— my ” 

“ Well, your what, for instance ? ” forshehad 
hesitated, as if a word had come that she re- 
gretted. 


292 


A Mistaken Identity. 


“On second thought, I prefer not to state,’’ 
she answered, and seating herself at last, for 
she was wearied, she gazed off into space. He 
came close to her, and resting his hand against 
the tree above her head, looked down upon her 
as she turned her face awa3^ 

“You are acting strangely,” he said, “and 
not like yourself. You remember what I con- 
fessed to you on that dreadful day, that will 
ever live in my memory. You knew, even be- 
fore that, that I loved you. That feeling has 
grown only the more intense with the return 
of memory which makes the world once more 
bright and beautiful, and full of great possibil- 
ities. Why do you make it so hard for me to 
tell you that I love you. 

She tried to look scornfully^ at him, but in 
spite of herself she was obliged to turn away 
her head, that his earnest gaze might not de- 
tect the color upon her face. She was almost 
tempted to throw herself into his arms, but 
to-day she was strangely perverse. She would 
not be lightly won, and then how did she 
know but what there had been something be- 
tween him and Kate. It might be past now, 
but she felt jealous of even his past. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


29S 


‘^Why should you tell me?’^ she asked, 
coldly, this time looking him fairly in the ej^e, 
without flinching. “Think of something more 
interesting if you care to talk to me at alh 
Why should I trouble myself with your love 
affairs ? Besides, to jltdge from your actions 
a short time ago, there is another who has 
fully as good, if not a better claim upon you 
than any other could have.’^ 

“Who, Kate?’^ he said, a sudden light break- 
ing in upon him. “Are you jealous of her ? Of 
the girl who has been my childhood’s play- 
mate and manhood’s friend? What a silly little 
girl!” 

He came closer and took one of the cold little 
hands in both his own, as she turned her 
face from him. He pressed it lightly to his lips, 
the fingers making a slight effort to escape as 
he did so. 

“Oh! my sweetheart, can you not understand 
me ? There is nothing in the wide world that 
appears beautiful to me, but you. The sun, the 
moon, the stars, this brilliant day that seems 
to smile upon all nature to bless me with the 
gladness of awakened memory, and budding 
hopes for the future, becomes but second 


594 


A Miso'aken Identity. 


thought to me when I think of the dear girl I 
love, for without her all would be darkness, 
and life not worth the living. Oh ! my love, 
let that light shine upon me always. Let me 
bask in the sunshine of your bright faee, and 
have the blessing of your presenee through all 
time. Love, be my wife ! 

He bent toward her, passionately, until his 
lips, as she drew away, nearly touehed the 
pink, shell-like ear. Her e^^es shown like twin 
stars, and her lips parted in an eestaey, while 
the tree trunks in the forest edge seemed to be 
dancing a merry dance before her, 3"et she was 
perverse. She would make him suffer a little 
for that caress he had given to Kate. Yet she 
knew now that he loved her, and her alone. 
There was truth in his voice, and her heart an- 
swered him though her lips did not. 

^ ‘You hurt my hand,’’ she said in alow voice, 
as he awaited her answer, not looking toward 
him. 

He dropped it at once, and his whole man- 
ner seemed to freeze. He drew himself up and 
looked at her scornfully, but the look was lost 
upon her, for he did not turn when he spoke. 

“I appear to be out of place here,” he said. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


295 


coldly, ^‘and had better leave 3^ou to yourself. 
It seems that I have been mistaken in my idea 
that I had found favor in your sight. Well, it 
is not the first time a man has made a mistake 
of this kind. This way is mine,’’ waving his 
hand across the brook that rippled merrily up 
at him as if in mockery, “and your way is an- 
other. Here our paths part, and I pray God 
we may never meet again. ” 

She started at his words. Never to meet 
ngain. Oh ! She had not meant that. Oh, no ! 
no ! She turned quickly, and saw that he had 
already gained the opposite bank. What if he 
should go and leave her forever? She sprung 
to the brook’s side, her whole soul showing in 
her eager glance. 

“ Henry ! — no, no, Percy ! ” she cried, wildly. 
“Come back — come back to me.^” 

He turned suddenly, and saw her standing 
thus, with her hands outstretched across the 
little stream. The words had pierced him like 
an arrow, and set his heart on fire, for in the 
tone he read love and fear. Love for him, and 
fear that she would lose him. Nevertheless he 
remained cold. She should not treat him so 
with impunity. 


296 


A Mistaken Identiti^. 


‘‘What can I do for you?” he said. “Why 
should I come back to be tortured by a co- 
quette? ” 

“ Oh no ! not that ; truly not a coquette ! ” she 
cried, piteously. “Do not be unjust. You are 
so, so hasty. Now do come oyer the brook.” 

“Not a step!” he cried, “until I have your 
answer. Oh, I am in a safe plaee to treat with 
mine enemy now. Come ; is it yes or no?” 

‘ Yes or no, to what. ” with an attempt at 
evasion. 

“You know well enough. Whll ^^ou be my 
wife?” 

She flung out her arms to him while the glad 
blushes came to the fair cheeks. 

“Yes, yes ! ” she cried, “with all my heart.” 

The next moment he had leaped the brook, 
caught her up in his arms, and, covering her 
face and lips with kisses while she panted hap- 
pily in his embrace, seated her on her throne, 
and was on his knees beside her with his arm 
abc u- her waist. 

“Mine at last I ” he cried. 

“No, not at last, dear love,” she said, clasp- 
ing her arms about his neck, and kissing him 
fondly of her own accord. “I have loved you 


A Mistaken Identity. 


297 


always. This love of mine has been .the joy 
and terror of my life this many weeks.” 

“But only the joy in future, my love, if the 
love of man can make it so.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 

Ralph Pepper had been astonished upon his 
arrival at Cliarleston, after having, as he sup- 
posed, seen Carter with the young ladies 
upon the lawn, . to find that the young man 
was still a prisoner as he had left him, and 
after remaining but a short time, during 
which he was particular to admonish Uri, 
with many terrible scowls by way of mak- 
ing himself impressive, to take particular 
care that his charge did not escape. Then he 
set about meditating some plan by which to 
revenge himself upon Ruth, It is true that he 
had loved the girl as much as his dark, fierce 
nature was capable, which was very little 
indeed. Love from him was confined chiefly 
to passion, and would be hot and cold by turns 
under the best of conditions. Revenge was 
more in his line, and he resolved upon having 
that in some way or other. 

He knew now that ‘something was wrong 

‘ 298 


A Mistaken Identity. 


299 


at the plantation. This man, with the won- 
derful likeness to the prisoner, had usurped his 
place, so must be as wicked as himself, and 
would work with him probably. He laughed 
to himself as he thought of the trouble he 
would yet make them all. He felt that he was 
hardly capable of planning as he would wish, 
alone. He must have some one to advise 
with, and no one could be better than his tool, 
and Henry’s jailor, old Dan Giles. The old 
man had been away on some smuggling expe- 
dition or other, but must have returned by this 
time. Ralph, therefore, made his way toward 
the house that he had transformed into a 
prison. His thoughts on the wa3^ were the 
most jubilant. He had the proud girl under 
his thumb, where he could wound her, and 
make the wound hurt. 

Busy with his thoughts he passed about the 
angle of the wall, and gave a quick curse of 
surprise as he noticed that the gate in the wall 
was shattered, and the remnant swinging 
open. He quickened his pace, and found that 
the door flew open at his touch. Then he saw 
that the lock had been forced in. With a yell 
of rage, he sprang into the hallway, and was 


306 


A Mistaken iDENTiT-s^. 


confronted by Uri, whose eyes shone like those 
of a basilisk. The excitement of events was 
fast unseating what poor, little wits he had 
left. Pepper caught him by the shoulder and 
hissed out: 

‘‘Where is the prisoner? ’’ 

Uri did not answer, but extended his arms 
in that suggestive manner, that told plainer 
than words, that he had escaped. 

“ Curse you all ! How did it happen?’’ he 
growled, fixing Uri, with one of his deepest 
scowls. 

“They broke in,” answered the giant, his 
eyes moving restlessl3% “and made me show 
them where the prison room was — but he 
wasn’t there.” 

“Was n’t there ! What do you mean ? ” 

The giant pointed his finger overhead, and 
a sob shook his huge frame. 

“Well, well, what?” cried Pepper. 

“ Her lover.” 

“What — Jessaline? I never 'would have 
thought it. Where will we find passion 
next ? ” 

“She loved him,” said Uri, weeping cop- 


' A Mistaken Identity, 301 

iously, unable to get that one idea out of his 
head. 

^^More fool she,” said Pepper. There, stop 
your pumping, and wait for me down here.” 

The Tory mounted the stairs softly, and 
knocked at the door of the chamber. A cold 
voice that spoke despair answered his tap, 
and he pushed the door open. The room was 
in disorder, as if a tragedy had recently hap- 
pened there. The girl herself was crouched 
upon the floor by the fireplace, where she had 
been for a long while, almost since she had 
come to herself. Upon regaining conscious- 
ness, the first thing that had attracted her at- 
tention was t ie dagger, that Walter had 
dropped in his haste to get his friend away. 
Its bright blade seemed to interest her, and 
after her sobs had ceased, she had took to gazing 
upon it tenderly. Why should she care to live 
now that her love was gone ? He had taught 
her what life was ; and without him she could 
not live. How easy it would be to plunge the 
sharp blade into her breast. He had often 
kissed her there in the happy weeks that had 
just passed. She would not live without him. 

As Pepper entered, she hid the little weapon 


302 


A Mistaken Identity. 


in lier bosom. She did not wish him to read 
her thoughts. She looked up at him a little 
vaeantl^^, and waited wearily for him to speak. 
She longed to be alone again. Alone with her 
thoughts. 

Ralph looked down upon her, and the new 
idea that he had framed down stairs surged 
through his brain with redoubled force. How 
beautiful she was. She had flung herself down 
in the most careless abandon, and he saw that 
she was clad in only a wrapper. Her beautiful 
dark hair hung about her, only seeming to 
heighten the effect of her splendid form by what 
it concealed. One full, round limb showed, 
where the robe had been drawn aside, and the 
black face of the man turned from pale to crim- 
son as he looked down upon her. What a 
superior woman she was, and he had never 
noticed it before. Was it because this other 
man had given her a soul, that now glowed 
through her whole body ? How he hated that 
other, who had possesed her first. 

^‘So our prisoner ha^ escaped,” he began, in 
a voice that appeared kindly, for him. 

‘^Yes.” 


“How long ago, do you think? ” 


A Mistaken Identity. 


303 


‘‘Oh! ages, ages, it seems to me. But per- 
haps after all it is not so long, for it was but 
last night. This is the morning.’’ 

“You seem to feel more badly over it than 1 
do,’’ he said, jealously. 

“Why should I not? ” she said, simply open- 
ing her eyes and looking at him astonished. 
“He was all in all to me. He brought me life 
into this dark hole, and taught me howto live, 
and love.” 

“You speak warmly,” said he^ biting his lij) 
to keep down his swelling passion. 

“He was my lover.” 

“My God! young lady, you show little 
shame.” 

“Shame!” she laughed, recklessly, “who 
speaks of shame? I am proud that he was 
mine. Oh! if he would but come again, I 
would take him before you all.” 

“You know that he has a wife, do you not?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“That he loves her dearly? ” 

“He loves me! ’’she cried, springing to her feet 
and throwing back the long hair, while her 
breast heaved with passion. “Why do you 


304 


A Mistaken Identity. 


torment me thus ? Am I not in misery enough ? 
Do you take any satisfaetion in watehing the 
suffering of a woman whose heart is broken?’’ 

^‘You mistake me!” he cried, his dark face 
glowing, as he came a step nearer to her. 
came to console you.” 

“Console me? Now you mock me. I can 
never be consoled, for I have lost that which I 
can never regain. He is gone forever.” 

“Listen! Jessaline,” he cried, his passion 
breaking beyond all bounds. “You are young 
and do not know the world and life, as I do. 
This young man has come to you, and, as you 
were at an impressionable age, his magnetism 
has opened your heart to your true woman- 
hood. You feel badly now because of this new 
passion with which he has inspired you — as 
3^ou think — forever. Foolish girl, do you not 
know that men are men, and that is all. What 
you have felt for that man you can feel for 
others — for one who will fill your soul with the 
same blissful passion. Dry your tears, there- 
fore, and resolve to live again, for the world is 
still bright and filled with love for you, if you 
but stretch out your hand to grasp it.” 

“What do 3^ou mean?” she asked, a vague 


A Mistaken Identity. 


305 


fear coming over her, more at his manner than 
his words. 

'‘Your soul misses something. Let me find 
for you what you have lost. That mystical 
something that no tongue can define. What 
place better than this, in which to learn your 
, sweet tale of love, what time better than the 
present ? ’ ^ 

Pie shut the door to the room, his hands 
trembling as he did so, while she retreated 
from him slightly, her eyes flashing scorn and 
resentment. He started to come toward her. 

" Stop ! ” she cried, extending an arm toward 
him, with a gesture like a queen. "You, who 
profane the hallowed name of love! You, like 
the rest of your mean-spirited world, look 
upon me as careless, because I have not been 
bound by mythical chains to the man I have 
given my love and all else beside. Your world 
would sanction the most horrible mating of 
two souls, without a spark of love, because of 
a pretended holy vow. Shall I tell you what 
I think of women who sell themselves to men, 
lawfully, without love, I, whom you think so 
base? That in the sight of Heaven, such 
women will be branded as wantons, while I 


306 


A Mistaken Identity. 


am held blameless. You try to tell me that all 
men are alike, because to such women, so they 
are — first come, first served — but to me, there 
is but one, and he is the man I love. Come 
sorrow, come agony, come death, no other 
shall ever be to me what he has been, no other 
shall ever usurp his place. Let the poor, self- 
educated, weak woman, give you a lesson in 
love, as God had intended it. One for one, not 
one for matiy.^^ 

“There is nousein your resisting, Jessaline 
he cried, throwing prudence to the winds, and 
allowing his passion full sway, while he ad- 
vanced slowly toward her, his two eyes blaz- 
ing, like living coals, the whites turned sud- 
denly bloodshot. “Your apparent constancy 
only makes you the more desirable, and I will 
clasp that dainty form of yours in my arms, 
and be master of my own wishes. After you 
learn that passion is with us all, you will 
learn to like me as well as the other. 

He followed her closelj^, and she retreated 
slowly toward the curtains. They neither 
spoke, but kept their eyes fastened upon each 
other, his fiery, her^s cold and determined. 
She retreated backward as he pressed on until 


A Mistaken Identity. 


307 


the curtains were reached. Then she stood 
the side of the bed, where the impression of 
Henry’s head still showed in the pillows. She 
saw it, and trembled a little. She would never 
see him again. She stood with the back of 
her limbs against the bed, looking fixedly at 
him ; he so wild that he sprang for her while 
the blood rushed to his temples. His hand 
touched her, and she uttered a shriek as if his 
touch had polluted her. A flash came before 
his eyes. It was the blade of a dagger. He 
started back, only to see a bright stream 
spurt from the white neck, over the marble 
bust. She sank down and her life blood dyed 
the white awnings of the bed. 

Good-by, Henry,” she gasped, her face 
lighting up with a smile. “ ’Tis where I would 
wish to die, here where we loved. I — am — 
true — to — ” That was all. 

Hardly had the voice ceased when there was 
a crash at the door and Uri, his eyes blazing 
and his hair flying, burst into the room. He 
took in the whole scene at a glance. He saw 
the white figure and the veil of hair, dyed with 
her own blood; saw Ralph standing like a 
statue of horror gazing at the girl and he 


308 


A Mistaken Identity. 


uttered a shriek like some wild beast, and 
hurled himself upon the Tory. 

Devil — devil — ’’ he cried. ‘‘You have killed 
her,’^ and he caught him about his body with 
a grip of iron, pinioning his arms to his side. 

The sight had driven his poor brain stark 
mad. His wild eyes blazed into those of Ralph 
for an instant, then with a growl, he shook 
him and caught the side of his neck with his 
teeth. The huge jaws met, and there was a 
gurgling sound, a stifled shriek, then a few 
moments later, a heavy fall upon the floor. 
Uri looked about him for a moment, then with 
a shrill, wild laugh tore from the house like a 
demon, his lips dripping blood. 

Up stairs there was silence everywhere. The 
day wore on, the bodies never moved. 

A little mouse stuck out his head from behind 
the fireplace, and then scampered over the 
carpet. 

It was the only living thing in that house. 


CHAPTER XXY. 


FORGIVENESS AND THE END. 

There was probably not a happier man in 
the whole wide world, than Roger Fuller. He 
had taken a great fancy to Kate, and compli- 
mented his son in the highest terms upon his 
choice. She was British, of course, but then 
she was a woman, and they were supposed to 
be non-combatants. Then he was certain 
that she loved his dear boy. There was no 
mistaking that fact, and the two were so 
happy together that his heart warmed to the 
stranger at once. They were so well suited to 
each other; he lively and jocose, she, now that 
the excitement had passed, ready to bandy 
saucy repartee with him. They never tired of 
each other's society for a moment, and if one 
was out of the others sight, there was a rest- 
lessness manifest, and then the other was 
hunted up. 

The two young men obtained a leave of ab- 
sence for a short time, as war matters were 

309 


310 A Mistaken Identity. 

not particularly pressing just then, and they 
made the most of the time allowed them, 
though Henry returned to his command before 
his alloted time had expired, for reasons which 
had to deal with Ruth. He had taken Wal- 
ter’s advice, and resolved to tell her all. It 
was a hard matter for him, for she seemed so 
happy at his return, so thoroughly content to 
be with him that he hated to speak the words 
that should make the look of pain come to her 
face. She was of so honest a disposition her- 
self, that he felt it would be hard for her to for- 
give him. How he cursed that weakness which 
had led him to be false to her. However he 
nerved himself to the task and told her all, 
without reservation. Nor did he try to spare 
himself, for he was just enough angry with his 
past, to give himself as much the worst of it as 
possible. 

She heard him through and then there was 
silence. He noticed that her face had turned 
pale, and he saw a tear glisten in the lashes. 
Her face had been averted while he told her of his 
baseness, yet she gave no sign, other than a 
quick catching of the breath as the whole hor- 
ror of the affair came upon her. He stood 


A Mistaken Identity. 


m 

over her chair, awaiting the verdict with a 
beating heart. She could not help remember- 
ing that he had left her a bride, even before the 
first evening of their first day of wedded bliss 
had passed into night, and had gone almost 
straight to the arms of another. No, she 
could never forgive him. Hereafter their lives 
must lie apart. She never would have ^fielded 
to any temptation that would have made her 
false to him. He had done this thing once, 
and might do so again. Surely he did not love 
her. 

She told him so, coldly. It seemed as if he 
had killed her heart during that short recital. 
He had made his bed though and must lie 
upon it. She told him so, and saw the look of 
agony and despair that came over his face, yet 
she felt no sorrow at the sight. She was glad 
if he suffered a little, for surely she must not 
bear all the pain: 

He left her without a word. Perhaps he 
had deserved it, but it seemed hard to him. 
The rest were so happy, why should he be 
singled out to bear the misery for them all? 
He went home to Delside, remained there a few 
days and then joined his troop, flinging himself 


312 


A Mistaken Identity. 


into the war with a fervor with which he tried 
to breed forgetfulness. Ruth grew a little 
paler but remained firm; in vain her friends 
pleaded with her to forgive her husband. She 
was unforgiving, and it seemed as if these two 
lives were a failure. 

Percy brought Eloise, bluvshing and happy 
before her father, and asked him for her hand. 
The old man was so happ3^ to see the smiles 
back again in the face of his darling that he 
was prepared to agree to almost an3^thing, 
but stopped to temporize. He insisted that 
no British subject should carry his daughter 
off to England, with his consent. If she was 
to be married, her husband must agree to take 
up with the fortunes of the colonies, and be an 
American. This was not such a hard thing to 
bring his mind' to, for he had cared little for 
the war and had no very thoroughly estab- 
lished political principles. He agreed to settle 
down as near her old home as he could locate, 
and as the old gentleman had already formed 
an attachment for him for his own sake, the 
the rest was easily arranged, and the young 
couple made supremely happy by the promise 
that they should have the paternal blessing. 


A Mistaken Identity. 


313 


After some time had elapsed, Perey received 
a letter from England, written by his father^s 
solicitor. The old warrior had died it seemed, 
unforgiving, for he had left no word. He had 
been found dead, one morning, seated before 
the open fireplace, in which the ashes lay as 
cold as his own silent body. In the ashes were 
the charred embers of a heavy paper that had 
been folded up, perhaps a parchment, but evi- 
dently his will, which he had destroyed with- 
out having time to make another, if such had 
been his intent, and the property went to 
Percy as direct heir. Whether the stern old 
man’s stubborn intent had been carried out 
at the last, or not, no one ever knew. 

The bodies of Jessalineandthe Tory, Pepper, 
were found, cold in death, by the girl’s father 
on his return to the house, and the double 
tragedy at once attributed to Uri, who was 
supposed to have killed them and escaped. 
He was never heard. from more, having pene- 
trated into the heart of the swamps where he 
probably died, if he did not take his own life. 
Old Dan Giles lived for years in the old jail- 
like building, and finally died alone and in 
misery, in the same room that sheltered his 


314 


A Mistaken Identity. 


daughter. He used to go and sit there for 
hours at a time, though he would never dis- 
turb a thing in the room. Her fingers had 
touehed them last, and he would not have 
their position altered. 

Henry heard of Jessalinc^s sad end as it was 
reported, and grieved over it for a day, for- 
getting it the next. He was not different from 
other men. The bauble had been his for a toy. 
He had worn off the polish, the freshness of 
the young life, and then the toy had become 
an old story. Why should he think of it more ? 
It was sad, of course, but he did not love her, 
so why should the affair make him mourn for 
long ? Men are ever thus, unless actuated by 
deep and honest love. Woman, they crave for 
her beauty, and then, when possessed, the 
flavor tested, the soul probed to the utmost 
depth, she is an old song, a discarded toy, a 
shattered temple. Thrice foolish is the woman 
who gives herself to man unless he loves her, 
for love alters all rules. 

And you, oh, pretty maidens, and matrons 
of more experience. You who have marked 
with your dainty pencil, some fragments of 
the above, how is it with you ? Are you not 


A Mistaken Identity. 


315 


worse even than your sterner sex? You sati- 
ate your curiosity, often with one who truly 
loves you, and then, as you weary of him, 
sink to a common level by arguing that man 
is but man after all, and curiosity is again fol- 
lov/ed up, sometimes with his dearest friend as 
the object. He is horrified that his idol could 
be so base, so vile. You laugh at him, and 
scoff at the idea that another is any more vile 
or different from him. You argue: Man is 
but man, what matters it, one or ten more or 
less? Then he either descends to your level, 
or accepts the inevitable, and hangs himself in 
the heat of his injured self-esteem, or goes and 
takes another, who is false also in taking him, 
and so society forms itself into a mart of 
social barter and trade, and yet the heavens 
do not fall. You scoff at this, oh, reader. 
Yes, but hundreds upon hundreds will feel a 
momentary fancy, and say, ‘‘ Tis true,” as the 
past floats by them in retrospective. A cloud 
from out the past floats before me. I see faces 
— fair faces. Yes, you too belong to this vast 
army I have just described. 

Capt. Harry Strong and his sweet wife wor- 
ried much over Kate, until they received a 


316 


A Mistaken Identity. 


message telling what had happened, when 
they blessed her fervently, and went about 
their duties as usual. 

“ He may be a rebel, said the wife, “ but he 
is cut out for a hero.^^ 

“He seems to have won you both,’^ said her 
husband, with a laugh. 

Teddy kept out of the clutches of the Brit- 
ish, and after the war was over, became a 
store keeper in Charleston, where he interested 
himself hugely in the politics of the day, and 
grew to be quite a speaker at town meetings. 
The Rev. Mr. Bell lived to officiate at the 
double wedding which occurred at the Fuller 
homestead shortly after the return of peace. 
It was made a celebration of the Continental 
victory as well as a wedding, and was remem- 
bered for years in those parts. Percy sold out 
his interests in England, and built a residence 
close by that of his father-in-law, and in j^ars 
to come, the children of the two families made 
a large gathering of relatives on all festive oc- 
casions, during which Roger was the happiest 
old grandfather in the States. 

* * * -x- * -x- * * * 

In the meantime, Henry, who had thrown 


A Mistaken Identity. 


317 


himself recklessly to the front in every engage- 
ment that had been held in his vicinity, as if in 
hopes that a stray shot would put an end to 
his existence, was quite seriously wounded and 
was sent to his home to be taken care of. Ruth 
was told of it, and she grew pale and trembled 
at the news. She had been unforgiving, but 
she loved him still. Suppose that he should 
die and only have as a remembrance on his 
death bed, her sternness. She said nothing to 
anyone, but threw on her wraps and flew to 
him. He was surprised, and would have raised 
up in bed at her approach, but she motioned 
him to remain quiet. 

Her face bore a sweet expression that he had 
never seen there before. She hesitated for a 
moment as she took his hand and bent over 
him. A blush came to her cheeks and she bent 
quickly and kissed him on the lips. 

Do not speak now, she whispered. Wait.^^ 

They sat thus for a time, clasped hand in 
hand, and his eyes sought her face, which was 
averted and thoughtful. His heart was bound- 
ing high with hope, and the sun of a brighter 
destiny seemed to be sending its first rays 
through the darkness that had gathered to 


318 


A Mistaken Iijentity. 


shut out happiness from his future. Was that 
past to be forgiven at last ? 

‘‘Are you much hurt? she asked softly, her 
lips trembling. 

“Not seriousl^^,” he answered in a weak 
voice. “It was little more than a flesh wound, 
and I only suffer from the loss of blood. 

“You will grow stronger under good nurs- 
ing, and 3^ou know my ability in that direc- 
tion.’^ 

“ Ruth — Ruth !’’ he cried, starting up in spite 
of her. What do you mean ? ” 

“That I will remain here and nurse you 
through your trouble.” 

“But after, after that, Ruth dear. Oh! my 
love, the world has been dark without you. 
I tried to seek death in the battle, because life 
without you was nothing to me. Without 
you I do not care to live, I will not. I will 
tear all these bandages and — ” 

“Hush — hush! you know not what you 
say,” she cried, her face paling slightly. “I 
love you, dear, and will always hold you 
nearest and dearest in my heart. Oh ! Henry, 
do you not know, can you not see, that it is 
that, that has been making me miserable ? I 


A Mistaken Identity. 


319 


am jealous of every word or thought you 
gave that other. How do I know, that while 
we would be living in seeming happiness, your 
thoughts might turn to her, and you wish 
that you were with her.’’ 

‘‘No! no, dear, never, he cried. “You are 
my wife and all in all to me. Never again will 
I be false in thought. I will never give you 
cause for a moment’s suspicion. You, and you 
always, shall have my love.” 

“But she — she was the first,” burying her 
face in the bed at his side, “I was your wife in 
name only, and she — she, oh! Henry, she had 
yoUy while I prayed alone for your coming. I 
longed for you while you lay — ”* 

“Hush — dear! she is dead.” 

“Dead?” 

“Yes, dead in fact, as she was always in my 
heart. Ruth, Ruth forgive me.” 

She could not resist the appeal, and sank 
into his arms to meet the kisses he rained 
upon her lips. There was no need of old Aunt 
Kitty that night, for his wife guarded him 
jealously, and never left him again, a fact that 
gave cause for rejoicing again in the two 
household?, And Henrjr was the better hu§- 


320 


A Mistaken Identity. 


band from that one fault, for* his every hour, 
his every thought was devoted to making his 
wife feel that the past, except as she was in it, 
was forgotten. 

Strange as it may seem, the two cousins 
were different enough in appearance to cause 
little trouble or mistakes as to their identity, 
and as they grew older the difference became 
more apparent. .Henry, too, had political am- 
bitions, and mingled much in the young poli- 
tics of the period, filling many responsible 
positions in the state. Walter and Percy, 
however, were content to bask in the 
sunshine of their own homes, and it was a 
constant source of pleasant rivalry between 
them as to whose wife was given the most 
honor at the various gatherings they at- 
tended. The two wives never failed to go to- 
gether, when the blonde and brunette types 
were a pretty foil, each to the other, and 
Roger, who always attended with them, once 
slapped the two young husbands on the back, 
and nodding his head in the direction of the 
two beauties, surrounded by their society 
courtiers, and said : 


A Mistaken Identity. 


321 


“ Lucky bo3"S ! ’’ Have I not a right to be a 
proud old man, with five sueh ehildren ? 

And Ruth, approaehing just then, laid a 
small hand on his arm, smiled up into his faee, 
and said : 

‘‘Six, is it not, or are Henry and I exeluded 
sinee he has beeome a good man ? 

Roger kissed lier fondly, and shook Henry 
by the hand. 

“What fools we were to be mistaken in these 
two,” he said, taking a hand of eaeh, and 
looking into their faees. 

“Espeeially with Aunt Kitty’s mole,” said 
Henry, laughing, and the ladies eame over to 
join them at the sound. Surely they had not 
lived in vain. 


THE END. 


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• • REKD • • 


XL? Idle Moments 

SERIES. 

The most entertaining Novels of the day. 


I. The Woman of Ice, Adolphe Belot. 

II. A Shred of Lace, by Fraiiklyn W. 
Lee. 

III. His Two Loyes, b3^ Albert Delpit. 

lY. High Life, by Edouard Cadol. 

V. The Modern Eyie, by Minnie L 
Armstrong-. 

VI. Albany Stark’s Reyenge, by Riehard 
S. Manriee. 

VH. A Mistaken Identity, by 0. F. G. Day . 

YIII. The Poet Scout, by Capt. Jaek 
Crawford . 

IX. Senator Lars Erikson, by Franklyn 
W. Lee. 

X. The Knights of the Green Cloth, 
by Antonio ScalYini. 

FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS. 

The Price-McGill Company, 

gT. PAUL, MIMN. 


RBKD 


WOMAN OF IGE 


(la femme de glace.) 




BELOT. 



Translated from the 45tli French Fdition, 


PRKSS NOTICES. 


** ‘This Woman of Ice’ is credited with being the most suggestive book 
in the French lan^age. Mr. Merriam’s translation is excellent and 
shows a thorough knowledge of both languages.” — St. Paul Daily News. 

“It is a piquant Frenchy French story with just enough of naughti- 
ness in it to make it saleable, and enough literary merit to atone for the 
naughtiness.”— Sti//wafer Democrat. 

“There is not a falter from the first page to the last, and chapter 
follows chapter with a thoroughbred speed, which carries the reader to 
the finish without fat'gue and without tarrying a bit for fault finding or 
diflSculties of comprehensions.” — St. Paul Daily Globe. 

“‘The Woman of Ice’ is a stirring tale of passionate Parisian life, 
strongly written, and evidently designed to teach the moral truth that 
‘the wages of sin is death.’ ” — Minneapolis Spectator. 

“‘The Woman of Ice,’ translated from the French of Adolphe Belot, 
is a powerfully written love story and one which maintains the reader’s 
wrapt attention from the opening chapter to the end of the book.” 


— Omaha Bee. 


‘“The Woman of Ice* is one of Adolphe Belot’s characteristic 
studies of Parisian life and realistic to a dangerous degree.” 


— Troy Times. 


“‘The Woman of Ice’ is one of those descriptions of Parisian life, 
illustrated by well chosen characters, so much affected by nearly all 
French writers of fiction. It is not the better life of Paris — the life that 
will help men and women to grow better. It is the gay and unlicensed 
convivialities and indulgences around which the clever writer can throw 
an inviting halo that is dangerous to the untutored minds of most 
American readers. The one and only justification that can be offered for 
the reading of many of these books is the exquisite style in which they 
are written. This one seems to have had a good translator, who has 
preserved much of the alluring charm of words common to the French 
school of novelists .” — Kansas City Times. 

“ ‘The Woman of Ice’ is a wide awake novel from the French.” 


— Chicago Post. 


“ Those who like French novels will find this an amusing story and 
well told .” — Detroit News. 

“Its language is a work of art, beautiful and striking.” 


— Pittsburg Press, 


“The book will find falvor in the eyes of the habitual story reader, be- 
cause of the novelty of the situations, which are unusual, even in French 
romance .” — Milwaukee Sentinel. 



Price -McGill 

^T. PAUL, MINN, 



READ 


LACE, 


A SHRED OF 


FRANKLYN W. LEE. 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“* A Shred of IvACE’ is well worth reading, and reflects the highest 
credit on its author.” — St. Paul Daily Globe. 

‘“A Shred of Lace’ is an interesting story and is told in the easy, 
inconventional style, of a man who has seen life as it is. It is fully equal 
in merit to the best efforts of any American author of the past decade.” 

— Stillwater Democrat. 

‘“A Shred op Lace,’ by Franklyn W. Lee, is a readable American 
story.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

“It is a society sketch of three or four hundred pages. Lee’s style 
is flowing and entertaining, and he or she will be an exceptional reader 
who begins the untangling of ‘A Shred of Lace’ without finishing it.” 

— Des Moines Mail and Times. 

‘‘The story is vigorous, captivating, the work of a master-hand, and 
if perused with the spirit and understanding, may be, and should be a 
mentor, to arouse the woman of real life, to see the failure that is the in- 
evitable attendant^upon misconceived devotion to misunderstood duty.” 

— St. Paul News. 

‘‘ The novel as a whole amounts to quite a clever satire on the sense- 
less freedom of intercourse permitted in American society between young 
people of the different sexes.” — Chicago Times. 

‘‘The novel, ‘A Shred of Lace,’ which has just been placed in the 
market, by Franklyn W. Lee, the eminent young author, is creating con- 
siderable comment, and indications point to a large sale.” 

— Worthington Advocate. 

‘‘An interesting tale in which there are some charmingly poetic 
passages.” — Town Topics. 

‘“A Shred of Lace’ is so simple and so real, that it is as impossible 
to dissect on paper as one of the stories we see lived around us every 
day, for it is simply a few pages of real life.” — St. Paul Graphic. 

“ This is a fascinating story and will probably be one of the popular 
novels of the season.” — Lewiston Journal. 

‘“A Shred oe Lace’ is a pretty story of American domestic life and 
should command a large sale,” — Omaha Bee. 

‘‘The plot is original and there is plenty of incident in this storj in 
eastern New York. The interest is kept up to the end.” 

— Lincoln State Journal. 


The Price -McGill Company, 

ST. PAUL. MINN. 


1 


HIS TWO LOVES 

ALBERT DELPIT. 


Translated from the ?Oth French Edition by 


R. H. MERRIAM. 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“The story is a very Freticliy account of life in Paris and the prov- 
inces, in a realistic way, sensational and risque." — 'Lincoln Journal. 

“Albert Delpit’s story of ‘His Two Hoves’ is an exceedingly clever 
analysis of human passion. Maurice de Fonde, a gay Parisian of the 
usual type, loves successively two sisters. In the first instance, the liaison 
lacked the spiritual element which alone should sanction the union of the 
sexes. In the other case, however, the sentiment was elevated and en- 
nobling, nor were the relations between the lovers debased by any im- 
moral offense. The story, although told with the usual gaiety and aban- 
don, which distinguishes M. Delpit’s school, conveys an admirable 
moral .’’ — Detroit News. 

“Of the French, Prenchy, this highly-seasoned romance of Parisian 
life in gay and festive circles, serves the purpose of pointing out the old 
but oft-forgotten moral that ‘the wages of sm is death.’ Less suggestive 
than plain spoken, and bold in diction, M. Delpit exhibits none of Zola's 
objectionable traits. To the more attractive style, he adds directness of 
purpose, and while the novel is clearly one for adults only, it is one of the 
most readable in the long category of Gallic realisms.’’ 

— Burlington Hawkeye. 

“‘His Two Loves’ is a successful French novel with the usual 
French characteristics .’’ — Troy Times. 

“If the author intended to make vice hideous by exposing its worst 
side, and virtue attractive by showing the happy ending of a life of un- 
doubted purity, ho has succeeded in the degree . Joseph News. 


The Price - McGill Company, 


ST. RAUL. MINN. 


High Life 


^ BY S 

EDOUARD CADOL 


Trra.n.sla.ted. from ttie F^rencfi 


— BY — 

H. O. COOKE. 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“Though a little Frenchy, there is a total abstinence from the coarse 
vulgarity that is characteristic of so many French novels. The plot of the 
story is good and the interest holds till the end. To explain the plot is 
to destroy the great attractiveness of the story. Those who like to 
read a pleasant story that ‘ends well’ will not be disappointed in 
‘High Life.”’ — St. Paul Journal of Commerce. 

“ It is a rather sensational novel, of the French school, very inter- 
esting in plot and very pleasantly worked out.’’ — Philadelphia Call. 

“‘High Life,’ a translation of Cadol’s ‘La Grande Vie,’ is one of 
the brightest French tales now on the market.’’ — Bos' on Traveller. 

“It has the usual French plot, is sensational enough to please the 
seeker after thrilling escapades, and is not by any means a badly written 
novel.’’ — Pittsburgh Press. 

“The moral good, the book amusing.’’ — New Haven Journal. 

“This is a very lively French tale, relating the long dream of a rural 
student at Arles, infected by the novels of Arsene Houssaye, on the eve 
of his marriage.’’ — Lincoln Journal. 

“The story is most entertd»ining, abounds in pleasant satire and 
conveys a sound moral.’’ — Detroit News. 

“The translator, Mr. Cooke, has done his work well and the 
narrative reads as smoothly as in the original.’’ — St. Paul Dispatch. 

“The opening chapter is ‘ The Eve of Betrothal,’ and such is the style 
of the book that the reader’s interest, once awakened, continues to the 
conclusion.’’ — St. Louis Spectator. 

“It is an excellent companion for travelers by cars, who, having be- 
come tired of green fields and mountain scenery, want something that 
will occupy the mind and interest the reader.’’ — San Francis o Call. 


The Price-McGill Co., 

ST. F*AUIv, MINN. 


READ — ► 

THE MODERN EVIL. 

— s BY s — 

MINNIE L. ARMSTRONG. 

THE MOST STARTLING BOOK OF THE DAY. 

150,000 COPIES SOLD IN ONE WEEK. 

PRESS NOTICES. 


“The book entitled ‘The Modern Evil,’ contains the most start 
ling ideas on the questions of marriage and divorce. It advances argtw 
ments for absolute latitute in these matters and will undoubtedly lay 
the author open to severe criticism by those who are old-fashioned 
enough to wish to preserve acccijted standards of morality.’’ 

— St. Paul Pioneer Pres. 

“ The characters are natural and the story certainly interesting and 
is well calculated to enforce, as it does, the arguments put forth by the 
author in support of her cause. The story is told with a commendable 
delicacy and need cause offence to no intelligent person of cither sex ; 
wHile the aim striven for, and, as we think, attained, is a high one.’’ 

— Detroit News. 

“ The subject is handled in a bold, vigorous manner, and is woven 
into a life drama of stirring interest. The book seems likely to make a 
sensation.” — Minneafjolis Spectator. 

“It treats of a subject in which nearly every person is interested. 
Its semi-sensational handling will attract people in itself.” 

— Syracuse Times. 

“It is in spirit obviously an honest and earnest book.” 

— Chicago Times. 

“Miss Armstrong has unquestionably dealt with her subject in a 
courageous and candid way. Her character-drawing is good, and the 
psychological situation is worked out with seriousness and conviction.” 

— The Boston Beacon. 

“ Miss Armstrong is to be commended for the courage with which 
she braves the public censure ; the book has the genuine ring of sincerity, 
and though she may be strongly antagonized from any source she will 
be granted her proper meed of respect. There is a suspicion of Ingersoll- 
ian doctrine in the pages and it is scarcely to be doubted that the great 
agnostic has not a firm apostle in his gifted niece.” 

— Minneapolis Tribune. 

“The subject is at least forcibly argued, as when the hero strikes for 
a federal marriage, divorce law, the divorce part of it to take effect in 
ever3' case where couples cannot live in peace and happiness, incompati- 
bility of temperament being made the first cause in every divorce law. 
The Alosaic law is also appealed to as the precedent for such divorce of 
a woman from a man who hates her; this is a very good counter evo- 
lution, but there are other than Mosaic views upheld in the story.” 

— Brooklyn Eagle. 

“The Modern Evil will probably escape the fate of the ‘Kreutzer 
Sonata’ and other prohibited works, but it will certainly raise a storm 
of condemnation among purists and bigots who have a holy horror of 
touching certain matters without gloves of abnormal thickness. Miss 
Armstrong evidently agrees with that author who says that the ratio of 
marriages made in Heaven to the entire number is as but one to a thous- 
and ; only she goes a step farther, and declines to see the sacredness of 
marriage when love and respect are things of the past. It is a strong 
n(jvel on one of the most noted questions of the day.” — Denver News. 

TS! Price-McGill Co., 

ST. PAUL, MINN. 


•[^The Scenic Liine 





Pilot Knob on “the Burlington.” 


When taking a journey East or South, be sure to select as your route 

“^HE gURLlNGTON” 

The People’s Favorite Vestibuled Line 

^^^rLST. PAUL ^ MINNEAPOLIS O 

AND 

CHI CAGO ST. LOUIS. 

For tickets, time tables, etc., call on any coupon ticket agent or address, 

JOHN R. HASTINGS, W. J. C. KENYON, 

General Superintendent. General Passenger Agent. 

ST. PAUL. MINN. 



Since brownies nimbie always find 
The best things known to human kind, 

Of course they’ve learned, like shrewdest mer^ 
To write with a Tadella pen. 




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